


Love and Other Unsafe Medical Practices

by Tedah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Canonical Character Death, Case Fic, Chess, Child Loss, Draco Malfoy is a delight, Fashion Designer Pansy Parkinson, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter is a reckless idiot, Healer Draco Malfoy, Healing, House Elves, Injury Recovery, Lawyer Blaise Zabini, Lesbian Pansy Parkinson, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Minor Character Death, Occlumency, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Pining, Post-War, Shaving, Slow Burn, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Unconventional Medical Practices, competent Draco Malfoy, copious amounts of angst, does this even count as a courtroom drama?, malicious bureaucracy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2020-01-05 06:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 89,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18360155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedah/pseuds/Tedah
Summary: Love is a lot like surgery: sometimes you have to take risks to succeed and most times there are unexpected side effects.Harry is back in a hospital room after an Auror sting gone wrong and nobody is amused at this point. It's starting to become somewhat of a familiar scene for Ron and Hermione. This time his healer is one Draco Malfoy so it's actually a /little/ funny when something goes wrong during recovery.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first serious attempt at a long form fic and, since I'm a happy idiot, I'm going in with the flimsiest of plans and my dick in the wind, we'll see how it goes.  
> My money is on the rating going up as we go along, let's be real, they gonna bone at some point. the question is whether I will make it that far. I will also add tags as things develop so keep an eye on those. If I forget to tag something please let me know so I can fix it.  
> Many many thanks to @Quicksilvermaid who made me want to write again and who will probably keep me honest until I give this thing a proper ending, check out her profile if you want some real good quality writing.  
> I am my own beta, so be nice, if you spot a typo let me know so I can fix it and not look like a fool.

Being a healer was invigorating, constantly challenging and it was the perfect environment for Draco Malfoy to thrive. He could feel the adrenaline pumping as he prepared the interns for triage, a sense of purpose as he gave out the last recommendations

“There’s been an accident during an Auror operation, the field medics have stabilized everyone and they’re sending them in. There are civilians involved, some muggles.”

He listed off all the relevant information as they booked it down to the emergency room “Don’t forget to account for magical resonance and careful with the memory spells you will be performing on the muggles.” He reminded them, it was something they must have heard a thousand times during training but one more couldn’t hurt if it kept them from making stupid and potentially fatal mistakes.

He gave a short pleased nod when he received a choir of “yes, Healer Malfoy” A few moments later the field medics started coming in, quickly listing the condition of each patient, letting him call the shots on how to proceed.

The room was his stage and the teams worked like a well oiled machine, proceeding smoothly until

“Auror Potter. Male. 32. Spell laceration on his chest and potion damage on the left side. Heavy blood loss. We can’t cauterize, we put him in stasis.”

Malfoy had a split second of hesitation before “Give him a dose of blood replenishing. Test for magic residue on the laceration. Send the potion to be analyzed and strengthen the stasis. I’ll take this one.” He pointed the medic to a free room and directed the last few coming in to the appropriate care before running into Potter’s room, wand already in hand. The goal was to keep him breathing long enough for them to close up his chest and take care of the potion eating through his uniform and his body.

As soon as he walked in the room time seemed to stretch, marked by the beeping of the monitoring spells. He felt the usual calm wash over him as he cast the sanitization spell on himself, his hands steadying and his mind clearing and with the next breath his power centered and he was into action

"we can't cauterize, Healer Malfoy, there's too much residue"

He rolled up his sleeves and walked up to the bed "get me a temporary patch" he called, vanishing the blood to get a clear picture of the wound. Of course they couldn't close him up, the curse that hit him had left so much residue on him that there wasn't an edge they could touch without entering into resonance with it and killing Potter faster than he was already dying on his own. He studied the details trying to find a good spot to anchor the patch someone placed in his left hand. He had a finite number of problems and only one goal: keep Potter’s lungs pumping and his heart beating at any cost.

"What's the status on the potion damage?" He asked, touching the patch with the tip of his wand and murmuring the quick incantation to activate it.

"Healer Dana took a sample to be analyzed to get the neutralizer ready" Someone told him

"Spreading?" He asked, carefully placing the patch on Potter's chest

"We doubled the stasis, it's almost zero" Was the reply he got immediately

"Good" He murmured. Now if only the patch would stick... "Get me another one" He called, throwing away the one he was holding once it got too soaked in blood to be any use. He could hear Potter's heartbeat slowing down as he struggled to apply the next one and stop the bleeding.

As he threw the second away Potter’s breathing started to fail, there wasn’t enough clear edges to make a patch stick.

He picked up two, he could make them adhere to each other, reach outside the damaged area and anchor them there, covering the whole laceration and then some, it wouldn’t be as durable but at that point durable wasn’t a priority.

He heard Dana come back in and administer the neutralizer, Potter's breathing eased a little, giving Draco a few more precious seconds to fail in applying the double patch.

"Healer, we're losing the heartbeat" A nurse warned him as he discarded it.

"I can hear that" He replied, struggling to keep his voice steady as he watched Potter bleed out on the table for a long second, weighing his options.

He couldn’t operate in this condition, but he couldn’t very well watch the savior of the wizarding world die under his hands. He needed to get rid of the residue and there was only one way to do that fast enough to make the difference

"Everybody clear. Dana, give me a read on the residue" He called, climbing on the table.

He pressed the tip of his wand to Potter's sternum, muttering an incantation until a bright light started shining from the point of contact. Draco could feel Potter's power reaching out from his core like an overflowing spring. The amount of raw power at his fingertips was staggering, it was a tide rising, but Draco didn’t have time to be awed. He stuck his wand between his teeth and plunged his hands in the warm syrupy light, pulling all that unbridled power out to burn through the residue magic contaminating Potter’s wounds. He gritted his teeth against the pain of somebody else’s magic coursing through him in that amount and with that violence. It was a wonder Potter didn’t explode carrying all that fire inside him every day. He braced against the onslaught, he only needed a few moments more, Dana’s voice was anchoring him, giving him a steady count down as the level of residue dropped steadily.

“Get ready to patch him” He called.

Potter heartbeat flatlined and his power started to retreat almost immediately. Draco pushed against it, ignoring the strain on his shoulders. They weren’t safe yet. He needed just a little more. Just a moment more, he clenched his teeth on his wand pouring everything he had into it.

He felt time stop around him as Dana finally called out the safety zone and he could pull out “Patch him!” He called, watching the intern activate the patch and slap it on Potter’s chest.

The next second stretched out to cover the span of centuries, nobody was breathing, the only sound in the room the steady drone of a flatlining monitoring spell until it lilted with a new heartbeat and kickstarted the universe again.

Everyone started breathing again and time started flowing around them, Draco climbed down the table and collapsed in a chair, barely able to holster his wand with his hands shaking with the effort.

“Good job everyone” He called as Potter’s vitals gradually evened out.

Potter was stable. The values were nowhere near strong but he wasn’t actively dying anymore, which was a win in Draco’s book.

“Wrap up his arm and his side, give him a dose of painkillers and get him settled in a private room. He’s going to need another blood replenisher in an hour.” He told the nearest nurse “Let him sleep the stasis off and call me when he wakes up.” He added, clenching his fists to stop the shaking of his hands, trying to get some feelings back into the tips of his fingers.

Draco had had an abstract concept of Potter being powerful, he’d read the reports of his dashing heroism in the prophet, tapping into his core was a completely different experience. And thank Merlin for that ridiculous amount of untapped power, any less and Draco would have ended up being the one with his hands elbow deep in the Saviour’s chest when he kicked the bucket. The prophet would have had a field day with that headline.  

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, covered in Potter’s blood, reeling from the aftermath of tapping into his core, but at some point someone came in looking for him.

“Healer Malfoy, mrs Weasley is here asking for you” Nurse Roberts told him

“Molly?” he asked, shaken out of his daze.

“Hermione” She replied. Draco nodded “Right, Granger” he hummed, standing up and moving to head out and talk with the family.

“Healer Malfoy” The nurse stopped him before he could leave the room, looking at him like he was an idiot for missing something obvious.

It took him a moment to catch up to what she was looking at. He was still covered in blood, he pulled out his wand and vanished everything, casting a sanitizing spell for safety. He could still feel all of it on his hands but at least he wouldn’t traumatize Potter’s friends.

He holstered his wand and rolled down his sleeves, covering the faded mark on his left arm. He attracted enough side eyes already without walking around with it in full view. Granger and Weasley were waiting for him in an almost empty waiting room, huddled together in a pose he’d become very familiar with during his career. It was the same hunched shoulders, the same clenched hands, the same expectant eyes that met his every time he came out of emergency surgery, the same hope weighing on his shoulders every time, this time tinged with their surprise after recognizing him and realizing he was there for them.

He shook both their hands and sat down with them

“How is he?” Granger asked, forgoing any pleasantries. She pinned him in place with her fierce eyes, like she just might be able to see the answer she wanted if she looked hard enough.

“We managed to stabilize him.” He replied, watching all the tension bleed out of them both immediately, a soft curse coming from Weasley as he breathed out his relief “He’s sleeping off the stasis now, the field medics did an excellent job getting him here in time” He continued after giving them a moment to enjoy the relief.

“What’s the prognosis?” Granger asked just as Weasley cut in with “When can we see him?”

“You will be able to see him once he wakes up” He started with the easiest question, taking a moment to decide how to best respond to Granger’s question “There were complications during surgery, we couldn’t operate on the spell damage, we had to employ an uncommon procedure but we managed to stop the bleeding with a temporary patch that should buy him enough time to flush out the external magic residue. At that point we’ll be able to fully heal him. He will also need major tissue reconstruction on his left arm and part of his side” He explained, calmly walking them through what happened during the operation.

“It’s nothing he can’t recover from but it will take some time and he will need some rehabilitation to regain full mobility” He continued, Granger nodding along as he talked, drinking up every word. He didn’t doubt she understood everything he was telling them. He knew it wasn’t the first time they found themselves in this position and without a doubt she did her research every time, Granger never was one to come unprepared, he suspected she might be more prepared than some of his trainees.

He watched her squeeze Weasley’s hand for a moment and struggle with herself. There was something she clearly wanted to ask. He waited for her to get her thoughts in order “Was there something else you wanted to ask?” He prompted, gently encouraging her to speak her mind. She exchanged a look with Weasley, something unspeakable passing through them in that single moment of connection. He stomped down the fleeting pang of jealousy at that quick exchange.

“How can we help?” She asked eventually, determination settling in her stance, her shoulders straightening as she faced him head on.

“Be present” Draco replied easily “Recovery is going to be a slow process. Knowing Potter he’ll want to rush through it or just skip it alltogether” He told them, it was maybe a little presumptuous of him to talk as if he knew what kind of man Potter actually was after all the years that had gone by. He was relieved to see  a half smile spreading on Granger’s face and an amused snort coming from Weasley

“Make sure he sticks to the program once he starts rehab, celebrate the small victories, it can become frustrating when results don’t come fast enough. Other than that there isn’t much you could do aside from keeping him entertained during the early stages of recovery.” Granger nodded, now armed with a purpose she’d shed the lost look that greeted him when he walked in.

“It’s going to take a few hours for him to wake up, you might want to get something to eat while you wait, I’ll send someone to call you when he’s ready for visitors” He told them, getting up to go back to work.

“Thank you, Malfoy” Weasley told him, standing as well “I’m going to call mum and let her know” He said to Granger, dropping a quick kiss to her forehead before getting out of the room.

“I’m glad it’s you in charge of his care” Granger said, looking up at him with an unreadable look in her eyes.

“You are?” Draco asked, unable to mask the surprise in his voice. Of all the things he expected any of them to say that wasn’t one of them.

Hermione gave him a small smile “At least I know he won’t be able to push around his healer to get the answers he likes” she said with a shrug.

Draco couldn’t stop the tentative smile stretching his lips “that does sound a lot like something Potter would do” He agreed “Thank you for the vote of confidence but I should really get back to work” He told her, feeling an odd warmth inside his chest.

Granger nodded “Of course, don’t let me keep you, and thank you again for sitting down with us” She said.

Draco shook his head “It’s just my job, Granger” He told her before heading out to make a round to check on all the other people that got in at the same time as Potter. He had a vague hope to find a moment to grab a shower and get the lingering feeling of blood off of him but didn’t count on it too much.

* * *

 

_Earlier that day_

Harry could tell there was something off as soon as they stepped inside the building. It had been too easy, too obvious, the smuggled goods were too valuable to have such loose security. He signaled to his team to follow him inside. He didn’t like that they were so exposed, in the middle of muggle London they couldn’t employ anything too obvious for fear of alerting muggles and having to deal with unspeakables coming out to obliviate them, so they were flying mostly blind.

He felt it the moment they triggered the trap. Just a split second to react, enough to throw up a shield when the roof started caving in and yell at the others to get out of the way. Then something hit him square in the chest, cutting off his breath, followed by a liquid splashing over his side burning up like acid the moment it made contact, the sounds of explosions going off around him, judging by the amount of noise the building was collapsing.

After that there was only pain

and blessed darkness a moment later

with the startling realization that he was intimately familiar with the sound of a building collapsing around him.

….

The next thing he knew he was waking up in an unfamiliar place.

No, it wasn’t unfamiliar.

It was a room in st Mungo.

He could recognize the annoying nondescript blueish-greenish color of the walls around him even without his glasses.

And the tingle of sanitizing spells made him wrinkle his nose just like always.

Waking up from stasis was always a trip. He could barely feel his body but he was fairly sure it was all still there as far as he could tell. He felt like someone had wrung him out and tossed him aside, but at least he was in one piece. Probably.

He was just starting to take stock of what he was feeling when he heard someone walk in.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Auror Potter” A cool somewhat familiar voice greeted him. Something inside him was pushing him to recognize the drawl of the man speaking to him. He squinted a little to put the mint green robe into focus, looking up at the face framed by platinum blonde hair escaped from a neat ponytail

“Malfoy?” he asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we go. First chapter out. What do we think? Let me know, I'd love to hear your thoughts on where this story is going I only have a moderately clearer idea about that than you. Love it? Hate it? drop me a line.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I caved, there is going to be some plot. Not in this chapter, but it will come I swear, probably in the next one. Thanks to everyone who commented in the last chapter giving me the motivation to keep going and actually write down the outline.
> 
> I'm preemptively notching up the rating because my outline reads "boning" at some point but it's a long way away still.  
> I'm still my own beta so if you see typos be a bro and hit a gal up so she can fix it and not look like a fool.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Auror Potter” A cool somewhat familiar voice greeted him. Something inside him was pushing him to recognize the drawl of the man speaking to him. He squinted a little to put the mint green robe into focus, looking up at the face framed by platinum blonde hair escaped from a neat ponytail.

“Malfoy?” He asked.

He must be hallucinating this one.

It wasn’t Malfoy next to him when he woke up all loopy in the hospital.

Malfoy was for when he was asleep. Ron was for when he was awake, and Hermione, and Luna, and Neville, and Teddy, and…

“The better one” Draco confirmed, closing the door behind himself. He walked up to the bed and picked up the glasses from the bedside table. Someone had gone through the trouble of finding them, fixing them and getting them back to Potter, he might as well finish the job and put them on his face so he could put the world into focus “Here, let me” He murmured, carefully sliding them on. He brushed his hair out of his face, threading his fingers through them, making sure they wouldn’t fall back into his eyes. Harry leaned into the soft touch of his hands, dry and cool and feeling just so nice on his face.

“You’re so pretty” Were the first words out of Potter’s mouth as Draco checked his vitals. People turning into idiots after surgery was an well of endless entertainment but Draco knew he looked like a hot mess and Potter wasn’t much better. He looked a lot like a corpse, his dark skin ashen and the scar on his forehead stark against it, but he was stable. Judging by the dopey smile on his face and the slightly unfocused look in his eyes, he was probably feeling the effects of the painkillers and the last dregs of the stasis. The lack of blood probably wasn’t helping with his cognitive abilities either.

“I know, Potter, thank you for noticing” He replied with an amused smile, catching Potter’s hand and carefully placing it back on the bed when he tried to reach for him. He made a note about Potter’s mobility and put the chart down. He pulled out a vial of blood replenisher and uncorked it, holding it up to Potter’s lips. He immediately recoiled from the foul smell.

“Drink up” Draco insisted, making him sit up a little to help him get it down. Potter dutifully swallowed the potion and smacked his lips a few times trying to get the bad aftertaste out.

“You’re bossy” He pouted, looking at Draco as he disposed of the vial. “I like it” he added with a wistful sigh, laying back down.

Draco almost chocked on his own breath at that “You’re a lot more agreeable than I remember.” He replied, trying not to laugh, or worse think about how Potter would look obediently taking orders in a whole different context, that wasn’t an appropriate line of thought to take about any patient.

“Maybe I should pump you full of painkillers and stasis charms more often” He joked, unable to resist the temptation to poke a little fun at him. Potter’s head was going to start clearing up any moment now and he doubted he would be as fun when he wasn’t high as a hippogryph. All he got was a vague hum of assent while Potter looked around the room.

He waited a few minutes, letting him come down from the high a little. He watched Potter’s skin regain its warm tones as the blood replenisher took effect. Once his eyes started to get more focused, and he looked sufficiently coherent and present, Draco summoned a glass and filled it with water and held it out to Potter.

“Here” he said “Drink slowly” he recommended, helping him grip the glass.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” Potter asked after he’d washed the bitter aftertaste of replenisher from his mouth.

“I work here” He replied gently. “I’m your healer” He clarified, setting the glass down on the bedside table. He sat down on the chair next to the bed, settling in for what he could see becoming a less than pleasant conversation.

“No, you’re not. Murphy is my healer” Potter argued, a frown on his face.

“Not when you get brought in for emergency surgery during my shift” He replied, keeping his voice even and trying to be as conciliatory as he possibly could.

Although, getting into an argument right then would drive Potter’s blood pressure up in a completely natural way, so antagonizing him would just be good medical practice. Draco allowed himself a small private smile at the thought and decided to be an actual professional and stick to the code of conduct, despite his excellent rationalizing for doing the opposite. “I operated on you so I’m the one in charge of your recovery” He explained.

“What if I object?” Potter asked, making a move that looked a lot like an attempt at crossing his arms in an extremely petulant manner. He failed due to the bandages and lied still in the most defiant way Draco had ever witnessed.

“You would have to defend your choice to Granger.” Draco replied, hoping it would be enough to cut down his objections. “So if I were you I would think very carefully about whether you have good reason to object to me treating you, aside from the fact you know I won’t put up with any of your nonsense.”

He hadn’t expected Potter to be enthusiastic about being treated by him, he was fully aware of the baggage that came with his name, but he hadn’t expected this flat out rejection either. He’d hoped Potter would be a little more... He didn’t know what he expected of Potter, just not what he got, not the same gratuitous antagonism they had when they were kids or the callous disregard for his expertise. At least his appeal to Granger’s higher power seemed to give him pause.

“Fine, you can be my healer” He relented, turning to look at him with a less than excited look on his face.

“Ever so kind, Potter, you make me a very happy man” He deadpanned before remembering he was supposed to be the professional “How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Great” Potter replied immediately, earning himself a glare from Draco.

Draco took a slow breath, tapping into the innermost place inside him where he knew he could stand straight in the face of the storm. He made an effort to keep his voice cool and collected.

“I realize you died once and got better in a matter of minutes, so a comparative assessment might be a little skewed for you but you currently have a hole in your chest so let’s try again. How are you feeling, Auror Potter?” He asked.

Potter immediately looked away and bit on his lip, keeping stubbornly quiet. Draco knew how to play this game and he wasn’t going to be the one to break. If Potter was going to be difficult he was going to be the most obnoxiously polite healer Potter had ever dealt with, and he’d be immovable.

“Exhausted” Potter muttered eventually “Like I used up all the energy I had. I’m not in pain but I guess that’s because I’m stuffed full of painkillers, I only have a vague feeling of my left side.” He elaborated after another very pointed silence on Draco’s part. He glanced up at him and Draco nodded his approval, gracing him with a small smile.

“Very good.” Draco hummed. Nothing out of the ordinary, if one could call anything about Potter’s conditions ordinary. “How much do you remember about the accident?” He asked.

Potter gave an aborted shrug “Just getting hit with a curse in the chest and then the building coming down around me.” He replied like it was business as usual “maybe some potion too?” He attempted. Things were a little fuzzy around the edges but he wanted to at least try and be collaborative. He wanted to be a good patient.

“That’s the jist of it” Draco confirmed “You took some kind of slashing curse to the chest, probably an artisanal one, we couldn’t close the hole it left behind but we managed to apply a patch that should hold you together until we can” He started explaining.

“Wait, wait. Why couldn’t you stitch me up? It’s not the first time I get sliced open.” Potter interrupted him, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Because of excessive magic residue” Draco replied, deciding to ignore the idea that Potter was something of an expert on getting gutted. The blank stare he got back told him everything about how much Potter was following. “Do they teach you magic theory and interaction during Auror training?” He asked, just to get a sense of how technical he could get in his explanation.

“uhm…” Potter looked down at where he was picking at the edge of the sheet covering his chest.

Draco had to force himself not to roll his eyes “Of course, your job is literally to interact daily with malicious and volatile magic, why would you need to know about negative interactions?” He took a slow breath, plastering on a smile, tilting his head a little to re-center himself. It wasn’t the right moment to go on a rant about the ministry’s training practices. Right now he needed Potter to understand what was going on in his body, he could scream his frustration another time.

“Some spells leave a residue on the target, ones designed to do damage, or poorly designed ones in general tend to leave more.” He started, making it as simple as he possibly could.

“When a subsequent spell from a different caster hits the target the energy tends to enter into resonance with the residue present, with unpredictable effects. Most often dangerous deviation in meaning or power discharge” He continued “You were covered in it, we were in no condition to operate, there wasn’t even enough clear surface for a patch.”

“Then how did you get it to stick?” Potter asked. Draco nodded, pleased to see Potter was keeping up and paying attention.

“Good question” He mentioned, noticing a small smile tugging at Potter’s lips as he looked up at him intently, those bright green eyes clear and attentive “Usually magic residue deals with itself given enough time. A part of the target’s magical reserves slowly eats through it, like your body expels every other toxin it expels residual magic too. But we couldn’t just wait for you to do that because you were actively dying, so I tapped into your core and forced you to burn through enough residue to stick a patch on you.” He explained.

Potter nodded slowly, ruminating through the new information for a moment “Why isn’t that standard practice?” he asked “Seems to me like a quick and easy solution.” he pointed out “Or is it standard practice? And why not burn through all the residue?”

“Aren’t you full of questions?” Draco commented with an amused smile.

“Isn’t it your job to answer them?” Potter shot back with a cheeky grin.

“It is” Draco conceded with a graceful nod “It’s not standard practice because it releases considerable amounts of wild energy so it’s painful, inherently dangerous, and most people don’t have the kind of reserves to sustain such a drain.” He listed off “Besides it’s a problem that solves itself with enough time. It would be pointless to undergo such a dangerous procedure to avoid the annoyance of inconsistent casting for a little while.” And the British order of healers refused to approve it despite the overwhelming evidence of its effectiveness coming from France and the US, but Potter didn’t need to know that.

“What about burning through all the residue in one go? It’s not like I lack the reserves to do it. Wouldn’t that have been more efficient than making me go under another time?” Potter argued, picking at the edge of the bandages with his good hand.

“Yes, you have an absurd abundance of magical energy, Potter, congratulations.” He rolled his eyes “But the procedure takes a considerable toll on the healer performing it and you flatlined halfway through so I didn’t have time to spare to clean you out completely” He explained, swatting his hand away from the bandages “Stop picking at those” He scolded him.

Potter pouted, twiddling with the edge of the sheet instead “So you’re telling me you wouldn’t finish the procedure because it was just too difficult.” He commented. And wasn’t that just nice? The casual, matter of fact tone Potter used chilled Draco to the core, his conciliatory smile frozen on his face.

“Of course, Potter, you’re exactly right, I didn’t finish the procedure because I’m just lazy and sloppy.” He replied, every word burning on his tongue as he barely held back the anger building inside him like a hurricane “Nevermind that I could feel your life literally slipping through my fingers. That had nothing to do with my choices.” He finished, getting every word out like a knife pulled from his teeth, dripping in sarcasm.

Potter looked up at him with an unreadable look on his face “I didn’t mean…”

“But you did, Potter.” Draco cut him off, deflating Potter in an instant.

He didn’t care about platitudes, he knew that ten years, or even a hundred, of spotless career wouldn’t change anything in the assumptions people would make about him, but it coming from Potter…

It stung more that Draco was ready to admit.

Potter should have known better, Potter had been there, he’d seen, he’d lived every moment. He testified for him. He couldn’t _not_ know the struggle.

And yet.

His tension abated when Potter looked away, unable to hold his eyes “Let’s talk about your arm” He said, pushing the anger and frustration down to deal with later. Or never.

Potter looked down and the bandages covering his whole left arm, starting at the shoulder and reaching down to his fingertips “yeah, what’s up with that?” He asked, trying to flex the fingers with little success.

“You got splashed with a highly corrosive potion. The uniform protected you some but the hand was exposed so it was eaten through almost to the bone. The arm is a little better but it will still need reconstruction.” he explained, trying not to show how bone tired he was starting to feel “And before you ask, no I couldn’t do it before because your conditions were too precarious to sustain the strain of reconstruction.” He prevented Potter questioning his decisions again “I’m sure you remember what it was like to regrow bones”.

Potter nodded with a grimace at the old memory of regrowing his arm in second year “No fun at all.” he replied.

Draco nodded “That’s a fair assessment and bones are relatively easy.” He added “Soft tissue is a more delicate matter, it’s going to take a few operations and you will need some rehabilitation but I’m confident you will regain full mobility with enough time. As soon as you’ll be recovered enough from the first surgery we’ll start on that.” He told him, doing his best to sound reassuring. Idiot or not Potter was his patient and his wellbeing was his responsibility, but he was still refusing to meet his eyes so he couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Is there anything else you’d like to ask?” He prompted, after a beat of silence.

“You said Ron and Hermione were here?” He asked, finally looking up at him, his eyes full of hope.

Draco nodded “Yeah, I’ll fetch them for you.” He replied, getting up.

Harry watched Malfoy leave, throwing a small “Thanks” at his back. As soon as the door clicked shut he groaned, rubbing his only usable hand down his face.

Why did he always get like that about Malfoy? With his stupid attractive face and his obnoxious collected demeanor making Harry’s blood boil just by arching one of those stupid perfectly manicured eyebrows.

He was past thirty, a full grown man, he shouldn’t lose blood from the brain just because Malfoy looked down at him and smirked. Or melt at the brush of a hand. That’s what teenagers did.

It was embarrassing that’s what it was.

And most of all he shouldn’t get bent out of shape every time Malfoy afforded the smallest amount of approval or praise, he wasn’t a schoolboy anymore.

And yet there he was, getting starry eyed over Malfoy being a competent healer and demanding he respect that, and he could only blame the smallest part of it on stasis after effects and blood loss.

Merlin, it was going to be a long recovery. Malfoy had grown more attractive than he remembered, and he was skilled, and confident, and didn’t put up with any shit and Harry was just a man faced with all of that.

A man with a limited amount of will force.

A man who had been single for a long time after Ginny, and who had worked long and hard to forget about the most absurd childhood hate crush he’d developed for Malfoy.

But the universe deep down hated him apparently, because he was going to be stuck in that predicament for a long time.

_"You better have good reason to object"_

Was having inappropriate thoughts about your healer a good enough reason? He wished he could just deal with it like a normal adult and instead he acted like an asshole.

Seeing the cold fury behind Malfoy’s eyes when he’d implied he’d done something less than the best had been like standing in front of a hippogryph. A fierce and lethal creature demanding deference. Harry shook his head, just that look made him want to take everything back and beg for forgiveness and Malfoy wouldn’t even let him do that.

The quiet click of the door opening pulled him out of his brooding “Hey, mate, how are you holding up?” Ron asked, walking in with a small smile. He summoned another chair for Hermione and sat down “you scared us for a moment there” He told him, patting his leg.

“Sorry?” He offered with a smile that wasn’t the least bit apologetic, earning himself a glare from Hermione “I’m sorry guys, I’m full of painkillers so I can’t really feel anything, I’m great.” He added, making Ron chuckle. “The weirdest thing happened” He mentioned “Apparently Malfoy’s my healer now.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a quick look and Hermione nodded “Yes, we talked to him earlier, before you woke up” She told him.

“What do you think about that?” He asked, trying his best to go for casual. By the look they both gave him he guessed he didn’t quite succeed.

“Mate, he kept your sorry ass alive after you got _another_ building dropped on you, he’s good enough for me.” Ron shrugged.

“Thanks, Ron, I just like it so much when people try to kill me, gives me a real nice rush.” Harry deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

“I’m sorry, you’re right, this one wasn’t on you in the slightest.” He apologized, patting his good arm.

“What do you mean _this one_?!” Harry asked, a hint of outrage in his voice.

Ron raised his shoulders opening his arms a little “You have a tendency to rush in without proper preparation” He told him.

“I do not!” Harry argued, looking to Hermione for support and whined when she looked at him with Ron’s same look in her eyes “You too?”.

“Sometimes you do take more risks than strictly necessary.” She replied diplomatically.

“Well, not this time. We did it all by the book and I got a building dropped on me anyway.” Harry pointed out, they could try to argue against that all they wanted, he was right. And if there was something not quite right about being satisfied for having been caught under a collapsing building, Harry was too busy being right to care.

“How’s the rest of the team?” He asked, looking at Ron for reassurance that everyone got out “I tried to shield them but… everything went down very fast.”

“Everyone’s alive, pretty banged up but alive.” He reassured him “According to the first reports you pushed everyone out of the way enough to avoid casualties. The unspeakables are dealing with muggle witnesses, they’re going to say it was a gas leak.” Harry nodded, it was the standard excuse for unexplained explosions these days.

“Shacklebolt is not going to be too happy about today” Harry sighed.

“Mate, the man is just never happy, the quicker you accept that the happier you will become on the job.” Ron chuckled, pulling a small smile out of Harry.

“You’re probably right. It’s just that I’ll be out of commission for Merlin knows how long, I’ve got to get a whole arm reconstructed…” He looked down at his bandaged arm dejected.

“No one is going to hold that against you, Harry” Hermione tried to reassure him “You got the whole team out alive, and from how Malfoy put it down it was something of a miracle you got out alive yourself.” She squeezed his good hand “You need and deserve a break. Just let the healers do their job, they’ll get you back on your feet in no time.” She smiled softly at him.

“Yeah… but it’s weird.” Harry grumbled “Malfoy being my healer is just weird.”

Hermione shot Ron a very loaded look. It was probably meant to be discreet, but Harry was trained to catch those exchanges after years spent with them. Before he could press either of them to spill the beans a diminutive woman in a lavender robe walked in and introduced herself as nurse Hanson. She stopped to run a few quick checks on Harry and change the IV bag hanging next to his bed. She checked that the connection spell between it and the delivery patch on Harry’s right arm was flowing properly before leaving them with a warning that Hermione and Ron would have to leave soon.

“I’m afraid visiting hours are over soon and Mr Potter needs rest.” She told them “You can come back tomorrow.” She added before closing the door behind herself.

“Mum already plans on coming over to feed you” Ron mentioned “She said, I quote /Hospital food is no way to treat a convalescent man/” Harry chuckled at the impression Ron put on. He rubbed his chest absently as warmth spread through it at the thought of Molly going out of her way to take care of him. When things didn’t work out with Ginny he’d feared losing that connection but if anything they grew closer. After that Harry finally accepted that her love for him wasn’t conditional on anything he did, it was just a given fact of life that no force in the universe could change that.

“Thanks for coming, guys, honestly I’m going to get so bored here.” He sighed. He hated being stuck in a hospital bed with nothing to do. Nothing good ever came from him being left alone with his thoughts too long.

“You won’t, Andromeda will be coming around with Teddy until he has to leave for Hogwarts” Hermione mentioned.

“And reporters from the prophet will be beating down the door to get a glimpse of the gloriously fallen hero.” Ron added with a grin making Harry groan “You won’t have time to get bored” He teased.

After exchanging a few very careful hugs they were leaving and Harry was left alone again. Maybe he should have asked them to bring him some books. Or the mission reports. Ron would have caved and let him have them if he’d pressed him enough. Why didn’t he think of that. Before he could beat himself up too much he was falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got a nice and rocky start to this whole thing, no one is happy about the situation except me because I love suffering.
> 
> Do you love pain? Let me know in the comments.  
> Do you think you know where I'm taking this? I promise you don't but I love hearing theories and meta on my work, I'm narcissistic like that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came out a little longer than expected but I needed to get that last scene in. Enjoy. We're finally getting into some actual plot. My new favourite character gets introduced, there are some feelings getting discussed.  
> I'm trying to add tags as I go, if I forgot to tag something sensitive please let me know and I'll fix it.  
> You know the drill by now, I'm my own beta so if you catch typos hit me up and I will love you forever.  
> Happy Easter to any of you celebrating it.

After leaving Potter’s room Draco went back to his office. He had a report to write to the Auror department, detailing Potter’s status and the estimated time he was going to be unfit for duty. Threading the line of patient confidentiality on those was always a delicate balance, especially given the fact that if he didn’t make it stringent enough Potter would try to work around it and get back in the field before he was ready. On the other hand if he gave out too many details it would most definitely get leaked and make a pr mess for him to deal with.

By the time the end of his shift rolled around Draco was well past drained. He’d reached drained five hours prior, when he operated on Potter. He dragged himself home in a daze, thanking hell and heaven that his mother insisted when Soup offered to come live with him. There was food ready for him on the table when he got in, courtesy of the house elf, but it didn’t prevent him from faceplanting in his bed right after eating and falling asleep still in his robes.

Draco cursed his existence when the alarm went off in the morning. At some point during the night Soup had gotten the robes off him and cleaned them so at least he hadn’t slept fully dressed.

He still felt like death.

The perfectly hot shower he took after getting up did little to lift his mood.

The breakfast spread waiting for him on the table did marginally better. He inhaled the first cup of coffee before even touching the food, but the progress he made in raising his spirits was balanced off by the front page of the prophet.

Of course it was all about how Potter got heroically injured during an extremely daring Auror operation. Words like dashing and tragic sacrifice were used, making Draco’s eyes roll so high he almost hurt himself. What cemented the whole article as garbage was the sprawling picture of the scene with field medics working on stabilizing the victims enough to send them to st Mungo and a nice closeup of Potter captioned “the gloriously fallen hero”.

Merlin, the prophet had become a parody of itself. Potter was barely out of danger and his image was already being used for some screwed up fetishistic hero fantasy to titillate the morbid curiosity of the masses. While the medics doing actual outstanding work were discounted as extras in the production that was Harry Potter’s life.

He threw the paper away after checking how his investments were doing. He poured himself another cup of coffee and savoured it slowly before getting into the eggs and toast.

He had another long day ahead of him. He just knew they would be under siege by reporters looking to get a piece of Potter and he would get caught into it too. He considered disillusioning himself to get in undisturbed, but he would still need so get past them which would be a hassle. It would give him a good excuse to be a dick to a reporter, he didn’t have many of those these days… Except he couldn’t afford any more bad press than he already got.

He sighed, looking up at the house elf, busy with the dishes at the sink “Why do I do this to myself, Soup?” he asked.

“You thought being a healer would assuage your sense of guilt over your involvement in the war, Master Malfoy” He replied without missing a beat.

“mhm… Yeah.” Draco sighed, remembering the struggle it had been.

“You also hoped it would allow you space to experiment with questionable magic completely legally.” He added not even bothering to turn. Draco squinted at his back, he was definitely rubbing off on him.

“And wasn’t that wishful thinking.” He commented, bitterness bleeding into his voice “Thank you, Soup, I can always count on you.” He said eventually.

“Happy to be of service, Master Malfoy.” Soup replied, pulling a smile out of Draco. It was the worst fake obsequious tone he’d ever heard. With a snap of his fingers the elf filled a mug to go, earning himself Draco’s undying gratitude for the third time since he woke up.

* * *

 

Harry kept waking up through the night, every time he fell asleep he’d start having weird dreams about dark rooms and boxes and odd smells and then jerk awake disoriented. At some point he gave up trying, he wasn’t sure what time it was but there was sunlight coming in from the window, aggravating his splitting headache, wasn’t he supposed to be under painkillers?

Why weren’t hospital rooms outfitted with a clock? At least he’d have something to stare at while he waited, instead of the dull pastoral scene in the painting hung on the wall opposite the bed. There weren’t even people there he could chat with. What was the point of putting a magical painting in a hospital room if it didn’t have people in it he could talk to?

There was some kind of commotion going on outside and he wondered if there was another major emergency being dealt with right outside his door. It was unsettling being so acutely aware of the world going on around him while he waited. It was weird in the worst way because it felt familiar. He remembered being kept in the dark while people sacrificed themselves for him, while a war went on around him and he was forbidden from intervening. He never wanted to feel like he was idling in a corner while he could be doing something useful, something impactful.

He was relieved when the door finally clicked open and Malfoy walked in “Good morning, Potter, how are we feeling this fine morning?” He asked, the smooth drawl spilling from his lips in what Harry could almost call an amicable tone.

“Like rubbish.” He replied.

“Care to share any more details so I can try and fix that for you?” Draco prompted after a moment of silence. He needed to exercise all of his patience, even if it was Potter, Draco was a professional, dealing with patients was what he did for a living, the calling of his life.

“I couldn’t sleep all night, I kept having these odd dreams and now I feel like something crawled in my mouth and died, my head is killing me and I have horrible nausea.” He listed off dutifully.

Draco hummed “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were hungover.” He commented with a shake of his head “Has this happened before?” He asked as he flipped the chart to check that they didn’t change the ingredients of his painkillers, but no, they were the same Murphy used and the dosage was the same. Potter could have started developing a sensitivity to it, given the frequency of his visits to st Mungo.

“Me being hungover?” Potter asked “Yeah, a few times, feels kinda the same, except for the part where I couldn’t sleep.” He offered with a satisfied smile, happy to be so helpful.

Draco had to remind himself of almost ten long years of honoured career not to hit Potter in the head with his own chart “I meant adverse reactions to stasis or painkillers.” he clarified. He was impressed with himself for keeping his voice steady.

“Oh, that.” Potter mumbled, looking away “No, I don’t think so?” He replied.

Draco hummed “I will adjust them anyway, you might be developing a sensitivity to them.” He decided, better safe than sorry. Before exploring anything else he wanted to go with the simplest solution.

“yeah, I have made a few trips round these halls” Potter commented, scratching his beard with a little smile that was almost self-conscious if not for the glint in his eyes. Potter wasn’t even sorry about his unnecessary recklessness.

“I can see that.” Draco replied, flipping through the chart “If you keep having trouble sleeping we can consider giving you a mild version of dreamless sleep” He proposed.

Potter seemed hesitant at the idea “I’d rather keep that as a last resort.” He said “It’s not like I have anywhere to be, so I can live with a few less than ideal nights of sleep.” He reasoned, shrugging.

“It’s your funeral, Potter.” Draco replied, putting the chart down after writing down the new dosage of painkillers. It wouldn’t be the first time a patient had reservations about taking dreamless sleep or draught of peace, people tended to be cautious around potions that touched on their mind.

“What’s all the noise out there?” Potter asked, all too happy to change the subject.

“Reporters. You featured on the front page of the prophet this morning in all your tragic glory.” Draco replied, standing up to check on the patch on Potter’s chest.

It was holding up pretty well, all things considered, but the residue wasn’t declining sensibly according to the monitoring spell.

Draco checked his watch, still early, not even 24 hours had passed.

Potter could reasonably still be recovering from the tap, he’d have to check in at the end of the day or even the next morning and see if anything changed.

“Something wrong?” Potter asked, catching the frown that passed on his face.

“Not necessarily. I’ll be able to tell you at the end of the day.” Draco replied absently.

“That’s not ominous at all.” he commented, settling back down and looking up at Draco expectantly.

“You’re stationary” Draco told him, standing over him.

“And that’s… Not good?” he asked hesitant. Stationary was ok news, meant he wasn’t getting worse, how was that bad news?

“It’s not necessarily bad either. You’re just not bouncing back as quick as I expected, but it’s not like I have an abundance of cases for comparison. You are for all intents and purposes a category of your own.” Draco explained, halfway between frustrated and amused. He lived for research into new phenomena but why did it have to be Potter? “If things don’t change by the end of the day we’ll start looking into what’s causing it.” He told him.

“You sure know how to make a man feel special.” Potter grinned.

“Yes, Potter, you’re a very special boy, a true medical wonder.” Draco rolled his eyes, unable to keep the hint of exasperated fondness out of his voice. He holstered his wand and started heading out.

“Malfoy, wait.” He turned around, his hand leaving the doorknob.

“Do you need something?” he asked, walking back up to the bed, when he got there Potter seemed to regret everything about his choices up to this point, avoiding Draco’s eyes at all costs.

“I’m just really bored… going mad kind of bored.” He admitted after a long moment of embarrassed silence. Draco hummed, a smile tugging at his lips at the obvious discomfort Potter found himself in, confessing something as frivolous as boredom.

“What would you like me to do about that?” He asked after letting Potter stew under him for a delicious second. He really shouldn’t be petty like that but watching Potter squirm was delightful, a wholesome form of entertainment he hadn’t been able to partake in for many many years.

“Could you get me a book? Any book, or just paper and a pencil, just anything to do.” Potter asked, just a hint of true desperation in his voice, and Draco had to admit in the privacy of his own mind that hearing that edge in Potter did something for him. It awakened something dark and predatory and wholly inappropriate towards a patient under his care.

“Do you play chess?” He asked, taking pity on him. Potter nodded enthusiastically at the idea “I’ll see if I can get you a self-playing board to keep you entertained.” He promised, watching Potter’s face flood with relief before turning around again and actually leaving to check in on his other patients. He barely heard the “Thank you, Malfoy, you’re a saviour.” Potter called after him.

He decided to stop by his office to send a quick note to Soup asking him to bring over his chessboard. He wasn’t about to go steal from paediatrics to entertain Potter.

He noticed it as soon as he walked through the door. It was designed to be hard to miss. The obnoxiously bright lime green envelope sitting in the middle of his desk could only mean one thing:

He was being convocated by the disciplinary committee.

Again.

Draco had learned very quickly he’d have to walk on the straight and narrow, be absolutely impeccable or be cut down. Just getting into the training programme had been a struggle, he’d been five years too old after serving his sentence and his face was too well known to just glamor the dark mark and pretend to be something he wasn’t.

Ever since he first started he’d been under constant scrutiny and consistently denied the leeway to make mistakes that was afforded to his peers. Spite was mostly what moved him to excel. Spite and pride and a deep-seated desperation to make something good of himself. If they were going to question his every move he was going to give them nothing to question. He built up an impressive survival rate among his patients and he knew protocol like he knew his own name.

But it was never enough. He also had the highest number of convocations in front of the disciplinary committee. Probably in the history of the hospital.

He should have known throwing Potter in the mix would do nothing to lessen the pressure, but what alternative did he truly have?

He opened the envelope and quickly scanned the paper inside, as expected it was about his operation on Potter.

An internal investigation on his conduct was starting, nothing new.

Except this time, they had a leg to stand on. He did use unsanctioned magic to treat Potter and he knew it. Hadn’t even tried to hide it.

He dropped the paper on the table and sent the note to Soup, then he sent one to Blaise, asking him if he was up for a night of legal advice that evening. The reply came almost immediately.

 

> _Only because you’re my favourite non-paying client. Get a good bottle of Ogden’s and I want an invite to the next Hospital gala, I don’t care if I have to go as your date._

Draco smiled at the sharp lines of Blaise’s signature at the bottom of the paper, he would get him anything he wanted if he could get the committee off his back and keep this thing from leaking to the press.

 

> Scandal! former deatheater gets his filthy hands on our beautiful pristine perfect savior Potter! More at page 7

It would make a fetching headline, it would do wonders for his shaky social standing.

He was just starting to commiserate himself when Soup appeared with a resounding crack, holding the chessboard with one hand and a packed lunch with the other.

“What you asked for, Master Malfoy.” he said handing him the board.

“And what you didn’t.” he added, dropping the lunch on the table before disappearing.

He smiled fondly at the spot Soup had disappeared from before shrinking the board and slipping it into his pocket before heading out to check on the trainees. He should probably get Dana as well. Chances were he’d be suspended soon so he needed to catch someone up to Potter’s status in case he had to take his hands off at a moment’s notice.

The obvious choice would be handing him over to Murphy, but Draco needed someone to have his back in that room, and while he could trust Dana he couldn’t say the same of Murphy, obsequious little man in the worst way possible.

* * *

 

Harry didn’t have much time to get bored once Malfoy left, almost immediately nurse Hanson came in to check on him.

“Good morning mr Potter, how are we feeling this fine morning?” she greeted him, checking his IV and then his chart “New meds, uh?” She commented “You having fun reactions to the old ones?” She asked with a smile, setting it back down.

“I wouldn’t call them fun.” Harry replied with a small smile “Do you and Malfoy coordinate greetings?” he asked after a moment.

Hanson looked at him for a long moment like he’d grown a second head.

“It’s just… He said the exact same thing when he came by earlier.” He tried to explain, realizing how odd of a question that was.

“Healer Malfoy is just a delight and so am I.” she replied, “Has no one ever been nice to you?” She joked. Harry just shrugged, unsure how to answer that, plenty of people had been nice to him but there was always a layer of performance to it. He let her work in silence.

Once she finished adjusting his painkillers she pulled out a copy of the prophet “You made the prophet’s front page this morning.” She mentioned, sitting down on the chair next to the bed.

“So I’ve been told.” Harry replied, less than enthusiastic about it.

“Wanna hear about it?” She offered, unfolding the paper. The fact that Harry agreed to it was probably an indicator of how desperate he was to not be left alone to think.

She started reading the article, sparing no scathing comment about choice of words and of subject. “Tragic sacrifice?” She laughed “I’ll show you tragic.” She folded the paper back and pointed at the picture of the scene, a woman bent over Harry, casting the stasis “You know her name?” She asked. Harry shrugged and shook his head.

“I suppose I would if I read the article.” He offered, unsure what the right answer was to that question.

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” She hummed “Her name is Yanna, she’s been a field medic for twenty years, this is the first time she made it into the prophet and she isn’t even mentioned by name. That’s tragic.” She snapped the prophet shut “And now we’re under siege from reporters trying to get a piece of you, mr Potter. Do you have any idea how disruptive that is to our job?”

“I have some inkling.” Harry replied with an amused smile “Thanks for keeping them away.” He mentioned.

“Yeah, well we do what we can for the most interesting man in the world.” She replied, shaking her head a little “But I’m afraid my break is over.” She added heading out.

Harry was left with a small smile, wondering whether she liked him or not. She did spend her break with him, keeping him company, but she’d been full of fire about the inconvenience he was causing by being there and attracting attention.

He managed to catch a nap until lunch, blessedly void of nightmares and keeping him from dying of boredom. Malfoy had promised a chessboard but had never come back… He did have other patients to attend to. He just wished he’d come back.

When the door clicked open again it was a welcome distraction from the annoying itch he had on his right arm.

In a spot he couldn’t reach with one usable hand.

It was driving him up the wall.

“Harry, dear, thank the heavens you’re ok.” Molly’s round face greeted him from the door “Ron told me about the accident, but I had to see you for myself.” She said, hurrying in, followed by Malfoy at a more sedated pace and a tall desi woman sporting his same robes. Another healer then. He immediately relaxed having people around meant he could avoid going crazy for a little bit.

“Before I leave you to an undoubtedly satisfying lunch I wanted to introduce you to Healer Dana.” Malfoy mentioned, gesturing to the woman next to him “In the coming days I might not be able to be as present as I’d like so she will be taking over for me when needed.” he introduced her, and Harry could swear there was an unsatisfied edge to his voice, a displeased angle to his lips, like this whole thing was an annoyance to him and Harry immediately needed to know why. “Aadhya, I’m sure Potter doesn’t need an introduction.” She nodded with an amicable smile.

“I’m sure we’ll get on great, mr Potter.” She said, “We’ll leave you to your lunch.” She added, nodding at Molly “Mrs Weasley” She added before turning to leave with Malfoy, walking shoulder to shoulder, his head tilting a little to listen to her speak, with an intimacy that twisted Harry’s guts in a way he didn’t want to look at too closely.

“That man is too thin. Do they even feed the healers around here?” Molly tsked, spreading all the food she’d brought with her on a small rolling table that she arranged next to the bed. Harry couldn’t help the smile at the mothering instinct kicking in for Malfoy of all people. He could tell she was suffering a little from empty nest syndrome with Ginny away to train with the Holyhead Harpies and the grandkids about to leave for another year at Hogwarts. He could relate to the desolation of an empty home feeling too big to be comfortable.

Molly staid well into the afternoon, catching him up with all the family gossip and then some about people he didn’t quite know, distant cousins and neighbours and obscure celebrities. Then she moved on to talk about the kids’ fast approaching new year at Hogwarts, how Teddy was sure he was going to make the quidditch team this year after the extra training they’d done over the summer. The room felt warmer and almost comfortable, less stifling with her in it. She didn’t even make Harry feel weird when he asked her to scratch his unreachable itch.

She left after making tea and feeding him some more around six, telling him she had to start making dinner, Fleur was coming over with the children.

And then Harry was alone again.

With a lot of time free to wonder why Malfoy wouldn’t be able to take care of him and had to pawn him off to someone else.

Was there a more severe or urgent case? Doubtful.

Was he taking a few days off? No, it didn’t seem like he was excited about the prospect.

Maybe he just didn’t want to deal with him.

Harry vowed to apologize for being an ass as soon as he saw Malfoy the next day… or whenever.

He had to listen, he couldn’t just dismiss him out of hand. It just wasn’t how things were.

Hours slowly crawled by as he overanalysed every interaction they had, the twitches of Malfoy’s eyebrows, the tension of his hands, the rings on his fingers, the thin line of his lips.

He didn’t even realize how familiar those patterns were as he slowly fell asleep in the gradually darkening room.

* * *

 

Draco was getting ready to leave when he realized the shrunken chessboard was still in his pocket. He sighed and decided he could just drop it in Potter’s room on his way out. He checked he wasn’t forgetting anything, picked up the damned green envelope and walked out, following familiar corridors at a brisk pace.

He carefully opened Potter’s door, trying to be silent in case he was sleeping. He quickly slipped in and put the board on the bedside table, a note on top of it with the instructions in case Potter had never used a self-playing board.

He spared a moment to watch Potter sleeping peacefully.

It was only to congratulate himself on a job well done, there was nothing else. He slipped his glasses off and set them down on top of the chessboard.

He did check his vitals once more before leaving as quietly as he slipped in.

He stopped when he saw a figure in front of Potter’s door, looking around in the least subtle way one could imagine.

“Can I help you?” He asked politely, the man jumped and turned around, looking at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“No, I’m the nurse on shift.” He replied quickly. Draco raised an eyebrow looking down at him.

“You’re not. Want to try again?” He offered, clasping his hands behind his back. Clearly this man was no threat and he wanted to play with him for a bit, he never got to have any fun these days.

“How do you-”

“Know it? Unlike you I do work here” He pre-empted him, lifting his chin a little.

“I’m-”

“No, you’re not a guest of theirs or you wouldn’t have lied to me in the first place.” Draco cut him off again. This one was too easy, he hadn’t even had to try and the man was ready to wet his pants. Draco squared his shoulders and took a purposeful step towards him “It wasn’t your lucky night, go look for a scoop somewhere else before I call security.” He told him in an even and deadly tone.

“Something wrong Healer Malfoy?” Nurse Roberts asked him as she came out of one of the adjoining room.

“No, the nice man was just leaving, I’ll walk him out.” He replied with a smile all on the wrong end of too sweet, too many teeth showing to be friendly.

He walked half a step behind the man, letting him feel the full weight of having his back to a threat, he knew how to project danger, lean into the perception people had of him. “Have a good night.” He called cheerfully as soon as they got out of the hospital.

He apparated home just in time for dinner. He took off the green robes, shedding his armour piece by piece, hanging it carefully before sliding on a soft t-shirt and joggers, then he joined Soup for dinner, already thinking about how he was going to explain the situation to Blaise.

Draco brought out the good bottle of Ogden’s Old firewhisky and two glasses setting everything out on the coffee table before curling up on the couch with the last update from the research on potion based memory manipulation going on in northern France, he may never be able to do his own research but he could damn well follow the strides being made somewhere else.

He didn’t have to wait for long before Soup was greeting Blaise at the door. “Good evening, master Zabini, Master Malfoy is waiting in the living room.” The elf informed him, taking his bag.

“Good evening, Soup, how are you doing?” He asked, the warm lilting tones of his voice instantly relaxing Draco as he listened to the exchange. They’d done this dance before. Blaise had his back and as long as he was there he was safe.

“I’m doing very well, Soup is never without work taking care of Master Malfoy.” He replied, his thinly veiled irreverence making Blaise chuckle as he walked in.

“Hey Draco, your house elf seems to think you ‘re a hot mess.” Blaise greeted him, taking off his robes, draping them over the back of an armchair, leaving him only with a crisp white shirt underneath and a deep purple tie. He came straight from the office then.

“He’s probably right.” Draco agreed with a resigned sigh, smiling when Soup’s voice came in from the other room.

“A house elf only speaks the truth.” Blaise grinned at the remark.

“You two are becoming the same person and I don’t know whether it’s funny or creepy.” He shook his head, slipping a finger under the knot of his tie to loosen it. He unbuttoned his collar and his cuffs, rolling his sleeves up a bit before pouring himself a glass of firewhisky.

“So, what’s got me working for free again?” Blaise asked, swirling the liquor in the glass, looking at Draco with a fond smile.

“This” Draco replied, handing him the green envelope. “And my pretty face, you know you can’t say no to me” He added flipping his hair over his shoulder.

“Yeah, well, maybe when you were young and beautiful, but I hate to say it, you look like shit.” Blaise replied, just a hint of concern in his voice as he read through the notice “Actually, no.” He looked up at him with a small grin. “I don’t hate to say it at all.” He amended before continuing a little more seriously “You look like shit and you need to take care of yourself. There’s only so much Soup can do for you. Pansy and I are worried, and so is your mother.”

“That’s why I got you here. You’re my self-care.” Draco told him lightly, pouring himself some firewhisky.

“We’ll unpack that at a later date.” Blaise hummed, folding the notice back up “Why are you so worried about this? It’s not the first time you get called in front of the committee, not even the tenth.” He pointed out, relaxing into the chair sipping his liquor.

“You know how it goes: they’ll pick through the records, interview your patient a little bit, make you sit through a hearing and then let you get back to work. You should be used to it by now, we’ve been doing this dance for almost ten years.” Blaise listed off how the procedure went every time. There was never anything of substance to it, just the desire to make Draco’s life difficult, and show the public how conscientious they were overseeing the deplorable element in their ranks.

“What’s different this time?” He asked, pinning Draco down with a look.

Draco knocked back the whisky and refilled his glass “They have a leg to stand on.” He admitted, running a hand through his hair, exhaustion starting to catch up to him now that he didn’t have to put on a façade for the world.

“How? You have a boner so big for protocol it’s not even funny.” Blaise joked before catching on to the extent of Draco’s worries about the situation. “Ok, walk me through what happened.” He told him softly, leaning closer, resting his elbows on his knees listening to Draco.

“I assume you heard about Potter’s latest exploits?” Draco started. Blaise nodded slowly “I’m the one who operated on him.” Draco continued, tucking his feet under himself.

“Did he die?” Blaise asked, “I assumed we would have heard if that’s what we’re working with.”

“No, he’s in recovery.” Draco shook his head “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is it? This is good press. You saved the Golden Boy, they’ve got nothing on you.” Blaise reasoned “Unless… How did you save our gloriously fallen hero?” He asked, the suspicion bleeding in his voice.

“An emergency core tap.” Draco replied, averting his eyes for a moment.

“Which is…” Blasie waved a hand encouraging Draco to elaborate.

“Not approved by the British Order of Healers.” He sighed, sipping a little more firewhisky as he slowly slumped down on the couch.

 Blaise’s smile dropped “Oh, Draco” He murmured “Why?”

Draco looked at him and shrugged “Because he was dying under my hands and I knew how to save him.” He opened his arms “I couldn’t let the man die just because the Order hates the fact that the French developed the procedure first. With malicious disregard of English puritanical standards to boot.” He ranted “I swore a vow, Blaise, one I actually believe in this time.” He could feel the weight of all his choices on his shoulders, and the mark on his arm a testament to them. His only saving grace was being able to put all the expertise he’d gained during the war towards something good, giving life instead of taking it. The vow of non maleficience was his only anchor, a balance to when he swore allegiance to a genocidal man.

Blaise couldn’t say anything to that, he knew Draco wasn’t done by the lingering tension in his hands and his shoulders.

“Of course it’s Potter upending a carefully balanced equilibrium in my life.” Draco laughed, the tension bleeding out of him as he emptied the glass again and fully laid down on the sofa, his back against the armrest. He wandlessly called the bottle to him to pour himself another glass.

“This time it’s putting you in the position to jeopardize your career.” Blaise hummed “Is he worth it?” He asked, wondering if Draco was ever going to let go of his weird thing for Potter. Some days Pansy and he thought it was over but those two always found a way back into each other’s orbits, it would have been funny if it hadn’t been maddening.

“Yes.” Draco sighed, rubbing a hand down his face “No?” He shrugged “I don’t know, Blaise, I just knew I couldn’t allow him to die pointlessly, so I saved him. Of all the things I should be punished for is that really the one that gets to me? How does that make any sense?” He asked, the ember of anger reigniting for a moment.

“The universe doesn’t make sense, Draco. But we’ll fight this, Potter is alive and as far as I know he’s not pressing charges, this is frivolous, I won’t let it mark your career. You’ve got London’s finest attorney at your back, you’ll keep being a boring nerd for a long time.” He raised his glass a little in a toast.

They went back and forth for a while, pulling up the research done in France on the procedure and all the precedents Blaise could pull up at a moment’s notice, formulating a strategy.

Half of the bottle in they were both on the couch, the coffee table covered in parchment, Blaise’s shirt unbuttoned more than was appropriate in any kind of professional setting while Draco almost dozed with his head on his shoulder, he’d never been very good at handling alcohol.

Blaise gently ran a hand through his hair, twisting the blond locks behind his ear in a familiar and comforting gesture.

“Why don’t you go to France, Draco?” He murmured, aching tenderness bleeding into his voice as he watched the bone deep exhaustion coming to the surface on Draco’s body. “I know Laennec Hospital has offered you a position as a potion master there. You could do good work without having to fight every step of the way. You would have an actual career instead of being stuck in trauma for eternity.” He told him, carefully picking the glass out of his loose fingers before he could think of refilling it again.

“You know why.” Draco replied, not bothering to hide the desolation he felt about the question. He didn’t even put up a token effort to keep his glass, all the fight drained out of him “This is my home, I don’t care if it doesn’t want me anymore.” He murmured, the words sticking together as they tumbled from his mouth, the pain numbed by Ogden’s excellent brew. “It’s where my mother is, and she can’t leave however much she may want to.” He continued, closing his eyes and taking a slow breath. “It’s where Edward and Andromeda are, it’s where you and Pansy are.” He opened his eyes, looking at the silver ring, sitting unassuming on his finger “It’s where I buried Astoria and all she brought to my life.” He whispered.

“This is where my roots are, Blaise, I won’t be eradicated by malicious use of bureaucracy of all things.” He stated, the steel coming back to his voice for a moment.

Blaise sighed, wrapping an arm around Draco’s hunched shoulders “I just want to see you happy.” Blaise told him, letting Draco tuck his head under his chin. “I will set the world on fire to protect you, but I can’t protect you from yourself.” He murmured, slowly rubbing his arm.

“You shouldn’t have to burn the world down for me.” Draco slurred, his eyes getting misty as his throat closed around the words. Blaise’s hands brought back some warmth to his chest, easing the pressure that threatened to make it cave in on itself.

“I don’t have to.” Blaise replied with a soft hum. “Draco, you’re my brother, I want to.” He told him softly, getting a vague sound of assent from Draco. He wasn’t sure he was going to remember this talk at all in the morning, but what was important was that he knew it now. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. One of us can’t afford to go to work hungover tomorrow, and it’s not the sober one.” He carefully helped Draco to his feet and made a slow stumbling way to his bedroom. He made sure he was tucked in and left a vial of hangover cure for him, along with a glass of water.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty, you stubborn ass.” Blaise murmured, brushing Draco's hair back from his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're veering into angst territory and we got a glimpse of what happened during that 14 years gap between hogwarts and the present. The pieces will come together eventually but I look forward to hearing what theories you have on it, and of course where I'm taking this.  
> We're still in decent quality territory but I promise garbage is coming and it's all going to be [@Quicksilvermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilvermaid)'s fault, her and the discord squad are a bunch of horrible enablers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens.  
> Draco is just tired with life in general, Harry is bored and things just can't seem to go Draco's way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill, I'm still living wild without a beta, any mistake you point out to me will earn you my undying gratitude.

Draco woke up feeling like a corpse washed ashore. His head throbbing with every movement. The single ray of pale morning light filtering in through the curtains felt like a needle stabbing his eyes. And his mouth… There were no words for it. The vial of hangover cure was like a heavenly vision on his nightstand. He reached for it, trying to move as carefully as possible not to upset the beast that had taken residence in his stomach and threatened to upend it at any moment. He forced himself to down all of the vile tasting liquid and not throw it up immediately. It was going to take a few minutes for it to take full effect and he breathed slowly through his nose, counting the seconds. Why did it have to taste so bad? It was probably karmic punishment for the drinking he’d partaken into the night before. He should develop a better tasting version. He could make millions out of it, better the world sensibly too.

Once his head stopped throbbing just a little bit he reached for the glass of water and downed it before getting up, the aftertaste washed out his mouth just a little. He sighed looking at himself in the mirror, he had seen better days, there was no charm strong enough to hide the bags under his eyes. He went slowly through his morning routine and he came out the other side looking more like a man. Soup would cover the rest with strong coffee and thinly veiled jabs about his questionable choices keeping him sharp.

“Breakfast is protein heavy, I felt it would be appropriate.” Soup greeted him, floating a mug of coffee to him as soon as he walked in the kitchen.

“Thank you, Soup” Draco replied, curling his hands around it and inhaling the scent, slowly sipping it and feeling the dark power of coffee filling his veins and bringing life back into him. Should he cut back his caffeine intake? Probably. Definitely not now. He needed it to live.

Once properly caffeinated and fed Draco went to get dressed, as he buttoned his robes, smoothing down the shoulders he swiped aside the vulnerability, cloaking himself in the impeccable composure he’d learned from his mother.

_A Black woman walks with her shoulders squared, her back straight and her head held high. Her face is her armour and her tongue is her sword._

Draco was lucky to have half of that steel inside of him. He wouldn’t have been able to endure the years after the war otherwise.

The situation outside the hospital was largely unchanged with several reporters harassing the staff for details about Potter’s conditions, but at least no one managed to sneak inside. All the prophet had was speculation, which didn’t make it any less annoying but considerably easier to ignore.

He exchanged a few words with the nurses of the night shift and the trainees before heading up to Potter’s room. He got there just as Hanson was leaving.

“Good morning Healer Malfoy. Your favourite patient is awake and fed, the new painkillers seem to agree with him.” She mentioned, giving him the efficiency he’d come to expect and welcome from her.

“Thank you, Hanson” He replied before walking in.

* * *

 

_Harry was in a damp room, sparsely lit. There was a long table in front of him with several cauldrons lined up on it, strange smells filling his nose, shelves stacked with jars of ingredients he didn’t recognize._

_No._

_He did recognize them, they were familiar._

_It was his laboratory._

_He knew exactly what he was doing, he’d done it before._

_It was an important job, fundamental even._

_He needed to brew… Something._

_He picked ingredients out of familiar jars, his hands following the line of the table and the shelf, flying around preparation without even a thought._

_He staggered the prep time so he could get all the cauldrons brewing at the same time._

_The tools feeling like an extension of his hands as he worked, dancing from a cauldron to the next, measured movements flowing through him in a practiced choreography._

_He worked tirelessly through the night, urgency pushing him to keep going, spelling out the fire under the first cauldron as it turned a satisfying deep blue colour, he let it decant as he worked through the rest, bottling everything up in single dose vials, testing one from each cauldron before corking and sealing them._

And then a door opened.

“Good morning mr Potter.” Nurse Hanson greeted him.

Harry blinked awake, the bland colour of his hospital room coming into focus as the laboratory disappeared around him like morning mist evaporating under the sun.

“Good morning, miss Hanson.” He replied, a little groggy, reaching up to rub his eyes. It only took him a moment to locate his glasses and he managed to slide them on with minimal struggle. He had a crick in his neck as if he’d actually spent the whole night brewing.

“The new painkillers agreeing with you?” She asked, placing a tray of food on the rolling table.

“Yeah, at least I got to sleep tonight.” He replied, pushing himself up a little “Anything new on the prophet?” He asked.

“Are you trying to get me to go off, mr Potter?” Hanson replied, with a fire already igniting in her eyes, a grin already tugging at Harry’s lips. He didn’t even have to prompt her before she sat down to enlighten him on the fresh nonsense the press was pushing.

For some reason she managed to cut him down during her read even though the topic of the day was the fashion season’s new colour and the most anticipated events of the social season. “You know what should be right here?” She asked, pointing at the first space on the list. “Fundraisers for research, mr Potter.” She shook her head with a tsk “Sure the opening gala for the London fashion week is amazing and coming in September, but you know what’s the one thing better than high design garments? Functioning hospitals!”

Harry listened to her paint a picture of the crumbling structure of wizarding public service system. He had to admit under all the snark she was making some very good arguments. The Auror department never suffered lack of funding or personnel, but he’d heard Hermione complain about those same things and he wondered if his experience was the exception to a much more worrying trend inside ministry departments.

She left him with that disconcerting thought once he finished breakfast, excusing herself with a “Speaking of functioning hospitals I have patients to look after.”

Once she left he noticed the chessboard sitting on his bedside table and the small note on top of it. He recognized the tight loops of Malfoy’s handwriting and he read through the instructions. He hadn’t known there were magical chessboards spelled to play themselves… well he did actually, met one during first year and almost died, but not available to the public, so… harmless and unassuming. A game for people who didn’t have a partner to play against.

He ran his hand over the surface, it was polished wood with a small metallic latch to open the compartment that stored the pieces. He was no expert but it looked well loved, and too nicely crafted to be something found laying around in a hospital. He easily opened it and on the underside of the top he saw the crude lettering of a child’s handwriting spelling out D. L. MALFOY.

Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Malfoy had brought him his own board. He picked up the white bishop looking at it, wondering what it meant. Did Malfoy had it laying around? Did he usually play chess at the hospital? What did Malfoy do with his downtime anyway?

Before he had time to consider the possibilities and wonder how it would feel to spend long afternoons playing chess with Malfoy, if it would feel the same as when he did it with Ron over winter break…

Before any of that had a chance to happen the door opened again.

This time Malfoy walked through, with the same “Good morning, Potter, how are we feeling this fine morning?” His cheerful greeting marred by a rough edge to his voice.

“I’m good.” Harry replied “Rough night?” He asked as Malfoy checked him over. He shrugged under the questioning look he got as an answer “You don’t look so fresh” He pointed out.

“Well, I have two functioning arms and an intact torso. I still look fresher than you.” Malfoy shot back.

“Fair. But you’re going to fix me, who’s going to fix you?” Harry replied easily, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Perfection doesn’t need fixing” Malfoy mentioned absently, already more absorbed by his chart than their conversation. Why wouldn’t he pay attention to him? Had he really become so stale through the years? Why couldn’t he get a rise out of him anymore?

“You have horrible bedside manners” Harry told him “Especially first thing in the morning” He added, and that got Malfoy to look up at him finally, a familiar smirk on his face, warming Harry up under that look.

“No one has ever complained before, especially those in my bed in the morning.” He told him, the smooth mean edge of his voice finally familiar again. The world was right on its axis now.

“I’ll believe it when I see it” Harry replied, unable to resist the temptation to push Malfoy further.

“You wish, Potter.” Malfoy shook his head, putting the chart down “So, how was the night? Did you adjust to the new painkillers alright?” he asked

Harry shrugged “I slept through the night” He replied “But I got the weirdest dreams, really vivid and really boring.” He mentioned.

“You’re complaining about boring dreams?” Malfoy asked him, an eyebrow raised making Harry burn under his implicit judgment.

“It’s not the boring part bothering me, it’s just… I don’t know how to explain it. They’re really vivid, like it’s not really dreams.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, trying to formulate a coherent thought. “They happened to me once before but it couldn’t possibly be the same thing.” He told him.

“Forgive me, Potter, but if you don’t mind I believe it’s my job to decide that.” Draco argued, sitting down and crossing his legs at the knee “So, when did these weird dreams happen before?” He asked, getting comfortable in the chair next to the bed.

“It was during the war” Potter said softly, his hand twisting into the sheet “Not many know about it, but I had a connection, a…” He gestured vaguely to his head unsure how to word it “Some kind of soul bond to Voldemort.” He struggled to get the words out as Draco listened quietly and intently “I got these headaches and visions of what was going on around him, feel his emotions when they were particularly heightened, things like that.” He described the feeling as best he could.

Draco let him work through what were clearly difficult memories to drag up. It was hard to miss the clench of his jaw and the tension in his hands as he got everything out.

“And you’re experiencing the same symptoms now?” He asked eventually.

 “More or less, I feel like it’s the same thing just less severe. I might be paranoid, I mean it’s just dreams, but it’s how it started last time. But it can’t be the same thing. Nobody hit me with a killing curse in well over ten years” He told him with a tentative smile.

“Very funny, Potter, there are other less involved ways to form a bond.” Draco replied, picking up the chart to go over previous accident reports to see if he’d been exposed to any possibly triggering rituals “Like marriage.” He mentioned.

“Shut up, it does not!” Potter replied with a small laugh “Now you’re just fucking with me” he chuckled shaking his head.

Draco looked up at him, trying to parse out if he was just having him on “You were engaged, Potter, how do you not know?” He asked, unable to hide his bewilderment at the whole situation.

Potter’s laughter died on his lips. “Ginny and I didn’t get that far.” He said eventually.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Harry shook his head giving him a small smile as he tried to apologize for his faux pas.

“It’s ok, it wasn’t a bad split, despite what the prophet reported.” He replied “Anyway, I’m pretty confident I didn’t get married recently either.” he added, his eyes fell on the ring on Malfoy’s finger. Did he though? He was about to ask but Malfoy was talking again.

“It could be just your body trying to cope with the depletion of your core, relieving situations where you had to accumulate power. But just in case I want to go over your most recent cases to check that you haven’t been exposed to any volatile rituals that could have accidentally bonded you to something or someone.” Draco put the chart down with an annoyed huff, damn Murphy and his shoddy note taking. There was almost nothing of use, he’d have to go through the ministry to get the information he needed.

“Any chance I can speak to your partner about it?” He asked Potter, doing things informally would avoid him the headache of making a formal request to the ministry and the bureaucracy that came with it.

“Sure, Seamus will be happy to collaborate.” He replied with a nod.

“Finnigan?” He vaguely remembered a Gryffindor in their year with a penchant for explosion, certainly couldn’t be the same one.

“The one and only” Potter confirmed, Salazar have mercy.

“I’ll get in contact with him as soon as possible.” He decided, having sorted that out he checked the residue level to monitor the decrease, only to find there was no decrease at all, the level was disconcertingly stable.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, the pinched expression on Malfoy’s face couldn’t mean anything good “Aside from the obvious” he added, looking down at the pristine white bandages on his arm and the patch on his chest.

“The residue is not decaying.” Malfoy told him.

“And until it’s gone you can’t fix this.” Harry concluded, pointing at his chest, hoping Malfoy would say there was some creative way to work around it. He just nodded. Harry sighed “Alright, lay it on me, why’s it still there?”

“I have no idea.” Malfoy looked like he was in physical pain as he admitted it. “But I’m going to find out.” He added, determination settling in his shoulders as he got up and left.

Harry sighed, picking at the patch on his chest. It started bad and it was getting worse. Malfoy’s optimistic outlook on his recovery was getting less and less realistic as the days went by, and Harry was already restless. His place wasn’t in a hospital bed lying about doing nothing. There was a potion smuggling ring out there that needed dismantling.

At least he had a chessboard now. He picked up the white queen and placed it on the board, the rest of the pieces sorting themselves out on their own. He made a mental note to ask Ron for updates on the operation when he and Hermione next came to visit. Maybe they could play a little, it had been ages since they had a good game.

* * *

 

As he walked out Draco was plotting a course of action. Supposing Potter had a bond with someone it could be interfering with the recovery. Bonds, especially accidental ones were unpredictable and messy affairs, so he needed to understand how this one came to be. And then there was the decay of the residue or lack thereof. The patch was still holding but it wouldn’t last forever.

He needed to get in contact with Finnigan to go over Potter’s missions to see what kind of spells, rituals and wild energies he’d been exposed to that might have staid dormant until now, and he needed to consult with an expert on magical residue handling. That would be Healer Bonhomme ideally, if he was lucky enough to get him to spare a minute for him.

He almost ran into Dana as he marched back to his office to start researching “Just the woman I needed.” He told her after apologizing for bumping into her “There’s been development in Potter’s conditions. Or rather, there haven’t been any which is something we need to look into. I’ll explain while we walk.” He told her, effectively kidnapping her.

Once they got to his office she was all caught up, he delegated to her the task of getting in contact with Finnigan while he penned down a few lines to ask Bonhomme for a consult. The man was a pillar of modern medicine, he was pushing 100 years and his research on magical interaction had brought healers into a new era of medical practices, unless you were English and too puritan to go anywhere near a patient’s magical core.

He’d retired as a healer not too long ago to focus on teaching and research, Beauxbatons had been more than happy to have him on staff and open a post-NEWT course in preparation for healer training. Draco had to hope he’d be willing to spare a few moments for him. French flowed easily as he explained the situation and asked for his invaluable input. He signed at the bottom and sealed the letter with the hospital’s seal before sending it off into international floo postage delivery.

Finnigan was the first to reply, telling them he’d planned to come by that same afternoon to check in on Harry and he’d be happy to sit down with them and share whatever information he could to help.

Bonhomme didn’t take much longer to reply, letting Draco know he’d be happy to help out a young healer, asking what time would be most convenient for him and if he’d mind talking through mirrors instead of fireplaces, mentioning how the knees of an old man don’t suffer very well extended floo calls.

Draco didn’t lose any time, he wrote him back immediately, thanking him for his kindness and telling him he could set up in a matter of minutes. As soon as the letter was out he pulled Dana into a conference room, touching the wide mirror on the wall with the tip of his wand, calling out Bonhomme’s name. They watched the surface ripple for a few seconds, waiting for the man on the other end to do the same.

After a few minutes the wrinkly face of Charles Bonhomme appeared in the mirror, his dark eyes glinting behind wire rimmed glasses as he smiled at them from a high-backed armchair.

“Bonjour professeur, merci beaucoup d'avoir accepté de parler avec nous.” Draco greeted him.

“Pas besoin de me remercier, mon jeune ami. Je suis toujours heureux d'aider les guérisseurs qui travaillent dur. même les anglais.”* The man chuckled jovially, waving a hand, dismissing Draco’s pleasantries. Draco relaxed immediately, offering a small smile of his own. He was about to start explaining the situation when Dana cleared her throat, pulling his attention.

“Oh. Uhm. Would you mind if we spoke English, professor? My colleague’s French is a little rusty.” He asked.

“Of course not. Tell me, why do you need an old man’s help?” He asked, getting comfortable in his armchair, his hands resting on the head of a walking cane.

Draco quickly summed up the events up to the morning, laying out his working theories on why there was no residue decay, asking how they could work around whatever was causing it and eliminate the residue if the host’s body wasn’t collaborating.

“You’re very knowledgeable about my work, Healer Malfoy.” Bonhomme commented with a warm smile, pushing his glasses up his arched nose “It could be a bond, but there’s many reasons why a host may not flush out the residue.” He told him “It happens because the residue isn’t… how you say? A stranger to the man’s own.” He explained “If I get cursed with my own wand for example, or by my children, my magic knows them, it has a hard time pushing them out. Much simpler explanation than a spontaneous bond, non?” He tilted his head to the side, rubbing his cheek for a moment ad he thought

“Aurors, they win many duels, yes?” He asked “The loyalty of a wand goes to them often. Maybe this is your case?” He proposed.

Draco nodded, knowing Potter’s penchant for disarming people it would make a lot of sense. If he’d had a run in with the person that cursed him there could be a divided loyalty in the wand and his body may have a hard time recognizing the residue as extraneous.

“How do we work around that though, we still need to get rid of the residue to operate on the patient?” Dana asked.

“You don’t, if it’s not a stranger the residue won’t do any harm.” Bonhomme replied with a bright smile, tapping his temple with a finger “In theory adding different residue around it can help the body recognize the magic and push it out. But it’s a dangerous operation. I don’t advise it.” He shook his head.

Draco hummed “What about conscious direction of power to the residue?” He asked. Bonhomme grinned, nodding slowly as he thought about the question.

“Interesting idea. Not many people have the skills for using wild magic like that.” he pointed out.

“Let’s say this man can.” Draco insisted.

“I suppose it could work.” Bonhomme conceded “but it’s unpredictable. A four handed draw from the magical core with the healer as conduit would be safest.” He argued.

“If we weren’t English, professor.” Draco reminded him, a small grimace on his face.

“Ah, oui, English don’t like putting hands into magical cores, do they?” Bonhomme hummed, a gentle teasing note in his voice

Draco shook his head “No they don’t, and I’ve already done it once, currently in trouble for it.” He confirmed.

“I see. Quite daring of you.” He commented with a smile that went straight through Draco like a breath of fresh hair in the summer heat. The gratuitous approval of his choices wasn’t something he got often and it felt better than he was ready to admit. “I’m afraid I don’t have any more advice to offer. These are delicate matters, quite unique to each patient, but feel free to call again, the school year doesn’t start for a while yet.”

Draco hummed with a small nod “Thank you again for taking time for us, professor.” He said, pulling out his wand to cut the connection.

“I always have time to discuss my work with young healers. And, guérisseur Malfoy, gros merde.” Bonhomme told him, waving a hand at him as he cut off the spell. The halo of white curly hair lingering for a moment on the surface of the mirror as it went dark and then went back to reflective. Draco was going to need all the luck he could get to sort this out.

* * *

 

Harry wasted the morning away playing chess and napping intermittently. He was unusually tired for a man who’d spent the last few days in a hospital bed. There was a physical exhaustion making his arm heavy as he moved the pieces on the board. He couldn’t quite explain it and it was making it hard for him to concentrate on strategy. Malfoy had warned him about needing time to recover but he hadn’t expected it to be so bad, he’d felt mostly ok the previous day.

Seamus coming to visit around lunch perked him up a little, he finally had the chance to get caught up with work, actually _do something_ instead of just whiling the days away.

His excitement was short lived.

“I’m sorry, mate, I don’t have any details. I got to deal with the press and since you’re out of commission I’m on desk duty and support.” Seamus told him, flopping down on the chair, smiling apologetically at Harry as he groaned in frustration “Besides, you should be resting, if I’m benched so are you.” He added, setting up the chessboard for a new game.

“I died and this is hell.” Harry whined.

“I would know if you did, I would have had to release the statement.” Seamus countered “come on, stop being dramatic and play with me, I’ll have to speak with your healer about your ridiculous history on the field in a while.” He mentioned

“Malfoy’s going to have a field day with that” Harry groaned, he’d done some stupid shit and of all people he wanted to get their hands on that kind of information Malfoy was probably the last.

“Malfoy? no, it was something with a D, Dennis, Dawn, Dana. It was Dana.” Seamus said “Malfoy’s your healer?” he asked, his lips twitching, trying not to show how absurdly funny the idea was.

“Yeah” Harry confirmed with a sigh.

“I’m surprised you’re still alive” Seamus commented, leaning back and watching Harry with an amused glint in his eyes.

“He’s not bad at his job.” Harry found himself defending him for some reason.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, you’re just not the easiest patient, and I don’t see Malfoy being the type to put up with that.” Seamus replied.

“He hasn’t.” Harry grumbled his mind going back to how stern and unyielding Malfoy was “But he can’t very well kill me, I’m his patient.” He pointed out.

“Good point. And you can’t kill him, since you’re temporarily incapacitated. Looks like things lined up very nicely.” Seamus chuckled.

“You’re a horrible partner.” Harry gave him the side eye.

“You too, mate” Seamus replied with a fond smile “Come on, play with me.” He told him, turning the board.

They chatted about the fallout from the last mission, how the department was scrambling to do damage control and how the press was running wild as usual.

“I’m just glad I didn’t have to deal with the unspeakables. They had to go out and obliviate half of London. Muggle law enforcement got involved. It was a whole mess.” Seamus mentioned, chuckling as he shook his head.

“You’re sure there’s nothing I can do?” Harry asked, hopeful.

“The one thing you can do is get better soon and give morale a boost, you’re sorely missed around the department.” He replied “Checkmate. You’re distracted” He commented as his pieces cheered on the board.

“Yeah, it’s Malfoy.” Harry started.

“When isn’t it?” Seamus shook his head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry protested.

“Come on, you’ve always had this weird thing for him that no one really understood.” Seamus shrugged.

“I did not have a thing for Malfoy!” Harry exclaimed, outraged.

“Back in school every third word out of your mouth was Malfoy.” Seamus argued “looks like some things never do change. It wasn’t much different for him. I wouldn’t be surprised if Zabini had nightmares about Malfoy going /Pottah!/ in the middle of the night.” He snorted.

Harry grumbled something under his breath about it not having been so bad. “Zabini… Are Malofy and him a thing?” he asked.

“Oh, that got you interested, uh?” Seamus teased him. “No, Zabini’s married to Daphne Greengrass” he told him “Come on, they’ve been to several ministry functions, you’ve seen them together.”

Harry shrugged, usually he spent those functions being introduced to just unending rivers of people he promptly forgot the following day, it didn’t surprise him that he’d failed to notice Zabini and his wife. He was about to ask about Malfoy but Healer Dana stopped by to whisk Seamus away, leaving Harry to his own thoughts.

He didn’t have a weird thing for Malfoy.

Sure he paid a lot of attention to him al through school, but he’d been right, he was up to something most of the time so it was completely justified.

And he’d testified in his favour during the trials because it was the right thing to do, just like seeking him out to return his wand.

It wasn’t weird.

But now Seamus had put it in his head and he was thinking about Malfoy.

Was there a thing between him and Malfoy?

Objectively he was Harry’s type in a lot of ways, especially now that he was a grown accomplished man.

But it was Malfoy.

And he was his healer.

And he was married… probably. He wore a ring so he was… something.

And it was Malfoy anyway, it wouldn’t be right.

It’s not how it’s supposed to go.

Malfoy was his old rival, one who’d shared a lot of trauma with him and now an accomplished healer working on him, nothing more.

He didn’t have a thing for Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with how this chapter turned out but at least we got into some plot and things are moving along a little bit.  
> Opinions? Complaints? Suggestions? Direct them to the comment section.
> 
> * In case you need a translation.  
> “Good morning, professor, thank you so much for agreeing to speak with us.” Draco greeted him.  
> “No need to thank me, my young friend. I'm always happy to help hard working healers, even english ones.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get into some action and you get the most phoned in plot twist in the history of literature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been a struggle but I've been looking forward to getting to this scene so much, I'm just happy to publish it at this point.
> 
> Many thanks to [@Quicksilvermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilvermaid) for listening to me ramble about it endlessly and just being a general champ about this whole thing.
> 
> To the drarry discord squad I hope you enjoy my struggle to find common words when my brain fails.
> 
> As usual I'm a free range beast going through life with no beta so any mistake you catch and release into the comment section will be killed humanely.

Turned out Potter had been in a number of high-risk situations, which surprised absolutely no one. Turned out also that Murphy never bothered to record or check up on after. Which was even less surprising, although exceedingly worrying. Honestly, there was lazy paperwork and then there was criminal endangerment due to negligent reporting. Draco ended up spending the afternoon sorting through mission reports with Dana and Finnigan, trying to match them up with Potter’s visits to st Mungo’s and ranking them in order of exposure to potentially triggering events. They had to classify them by likelihood of exposure and probable effects.

By the time they had an organized list it was the end of Draco’s shift, Dana had left to take care of an emergency a couple of hours earlier, letting him and Finnigan finalize the list.

“Does the ministry not have a protocol for risk management?” Draco asked, leaning back in his chair looking at the impressive list they’d written out.

Finnigan snorted “Oh, it does.” he replied with a chuckle.

“Was it developed by suicidal garden gnomes?” He asked, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow “Because it would explain a lot of what’s going on here.” he added, tapping the list with a finger.

“Harry sees it more as a suggestion than a steadfast rule.” Finnigan explained with a shrug.

“Of course, because who needs structure or discipline when you have the saviour of the wizarding world on the team?” Draco sighed, he should have expected some nonsense like that.

“Have you ever tried saying no to Harry?” Finnigan asked, equal parts amusement and disbelief in his voice.

“Do you really think he was delighted when I informed I’d be his healer?” Draco shot back. It wasn’t that hard to say no to Potter, people just didn’t want to, which in turn gave the man leeway to do whatever he well damn pleased.

“I can’t imagine he was, no.” he admitted, rubbing the back of his head.

“And still I’m the one treating him, so there’s your answer.” Draco said, getting up to clear up the reports and stick the list to his wall. “Thank you for collaborating, mr Finnigan, you saved us a lot of headaches and paperwork” He mentioned “And I’m sorry about taking up so much of your time.” He added as Finnigan got up to leave. He’d learned some honest show of gratitude went a long way towards cultivating useful connections on the job.

“It was really no trouble. Anything you need to get Harry back into fighting shape as soon as possible.” He smiled, holding out a hand to shake.

“Still. It made my job easier.” Draco replied, shaking his hand and walking him out. In the morning he would start experimenting on Potter. If it wasn’t tragic and put his career on the line of complete annihilation it would be hilarious. A completely new case to study, it would be the opportunity of a lifetime for anyone whose name wasn’t Draco Malfoy.

* * *

 

Draco ended up researching deep into the night, under Soup’s disapproving gaze. It was astounding how he could look down on him from a height of under 3 feet. He could swear the little bugger switched him to decaf around eleven and hummed disapprovingly every time Draco asked for another cup. He needed to find the best way to test for the wide range of possible traumas Potter might have suffered and went unchecked until they surfaced now, messing with his recovery in unforeseen ways.

“I believe I have heard somewhere that sleep is beneficial to a wizard’s health, Master Malfoy, but I’ve yet to witness any behaviour from you to support that claim. Wouldn’t it be interesting to test the theory?” Soup mentioned, clearing out the empty mugs somewhere around two a.m.

“Alright, alright, I’m going to bed.” Draco relented with a sigh, waving his wand and sending all his notes neatly inside a folder before heading to bed for a few hours of sleep.

Morning came unusually early with the insistent sound of his alarm spell waking him up after what felt like mere moments of sleep. He resigned himself to casting a glamor on himself to erase the bags under his eyes, he couldn’t afford to show himself vulnerable around the hospital, especially now, with his disciplinary hearing coming up.

Soup was a gift from Merlin, steaming coffee waiting on the table when he walked in. The elf assessed him with his big dark eyes for a long moment “Did Master Malfoy get a good night sleep?” He asked eventually, his eyes searching his face.

Draco hummed and nodded “I did.” He replied, sitting and picking up the mug.

“The glamour has nothing to do with how well rested he looks, then.” Ah, there it was, the bite behind soft spoken words, Soup had been a Malfoy much longer than Draco after all. He should have known something was up when he spoke in third person.

“Fine, I will take better care of my sleep schedule if my face offends you, Soup.” Draco relented with a small smile when Soup finally turned around, releasing him from the scrutiny.

“A house elf only takes care of his master.” He declared, getting to work on the eggs.

“I know, you do an outstanding job under adverse circumstances.” Draco told him a hint of fondness in his voice as he sipped the coffee

“My Master is the most adverse of circumstances.” Soup mentioned, threading the line of outright disrespect.

“One you chose for your own.” Draco reminded him. Soup had explicitly asked for permission to follow Draco once he moved out of the Manor and wouldn’t listen to reason when Draco told him there was no need. Narcissa had sided with the elf in that argument and that had been it.

“A choice borne of need. What’s your excuse for picking adverse circumstances for yourself, Master Malfoy?” Soup glanced at him, knowing he was stepping into dangerous territory.

Draco sighed, setting the mug down. Soup was a clever little creature, ambushing him with cutting questions in the morning before he’d even finished his coffee “We’re not having this discussion again, Soup. I picked my battle and I’m seeing it through to the end. Sometimes my job is hard but it’s what I want.” He told him with no harshness behind his voice.

“A happy master is much easier to serve. Maybe there’s more Gryffindor stubbornness in you than I thought.” Soup sighed, sending the dishes to clean themselves.

“That is mutinous, Soup!” Draco gasped.

“A house elf only speaks the truth.” Soup replied, the impassibility of his wrinkly face betrayed by the twitch of his big ears, letting on the concealed amusement.

“Were you this cheeky with my father?” Draco asked with a small smile, behind his mug.

“Soup wasn’t as fond of old Master Malfoy as he is of his son.” The elf replied with a small melancholic smile before walking out, leaving worlds unsaid with that single sentence.

Draco walked inside the hospital easily sidestepping the small group of reporters still waiting to get news about their fallen saint Potter. He only had one day before the preliminary hearing and he had to make the most of it. He had a long list of possible causes for Potter’s conditions and he had to test for each one.

He walked in the break room and grabbed two trainees “Bingley, Brown, by being the first in this morning you won the privilege of working with me today. It’s going to be an incredible teaching opportunity. Now chop chop, we have no time to lose.” He told them before walking back out, trusting they would follow swiftly.

“What are we working on, Healer Malfoy?” Brown was the first to catch up to him, a bright young Hufflepuff, hardworking and good at taking directions, slightly lacking in leadership skills, but that was relatively easy to fix, unlike Bingley’s many flaws.

“I have a battery of unusual tests to run on a patient, you’ll be doing most of them, it will be good practice for procedures you might otherwise have to perform in emergency situations.” He explained as they went to the lab to get all the instruments they needed.

* * *

 

Harry didn’t waste too much time trying to rationalize away his less than professional feelings for Malfoy. It was an exercise in futility. The man made those obnoxious healer robes look like high fashion and what Harry felt about it was violently un-platonic, Malfoy was self-assured and unyielding in the most attractive way, he’d grown into his features wonderfully and Harry was a hot-blooded bisexual man. He just wished those feelings weren’t quite so public domain. Was he being that obvious?

Harry’s night was uncomfortable, he struggled to find a comfortable enough position and for some reason he felt wired. It wasn’t just because of Seamus’ disconcerting comments about him and Malfoy, about everybody knowing about his (apparently not so) secret unrequited crush on the man. It was something else. It was a pervasive sense of urgency that kept him from falling asleep well into the night.

When he did manage to doze off he found himself in a softly lit room with a mess of papers in front of him. He knew what they said, he’d gone over them multiple times but each time he made a new note in the margin in a neat loopy handwriting. There were potion ingredients, names, places all tightly organized in spreadsheets arranged in front of him and a sense of not having enough time that pushed him to work so everything was ready before the morning. There were people depending on him finishing his work on time and a sense of impending doom hanging over everything that made focusing on the work that much harder.

Try as he might he couldn’t remember a single thing he’d read on those papers as he woke up. Dreams were strange like that. All things considered thought, as far as weird bond dreams went, better this than the lingering images of torture that used to come back every time he closed his eyes, or the feeling of dark magic clinging to him as he woke up clammy covered in cold sweat back during the war.

It wasn’t Hanson walking in with his breakfast, though. Upon asking he was informed it was her day off and he found himself missing her cutting take on the day’s news. It wasn’t just an injection of energy first thing in the morning, he realized, she was his connection to the goings on in the outside world, everyone who came visit had a stark lack of information for him. The realization gave him a moment of pause. His friends were well intentioned, trying to distract him, but it ended up making him feel cut off and pushed aside and endlessly frustrated about his lack of involvement. He still hadn’t received an update on the case he’d been working on when he got injured.

Malfoy walking in looking like a man on a mission with two other people in tow was a welcome distraction from the dark turn his thoughts were taking.

The two newcomers wore the chartreuse he’d learned was the colour of trainees, his curiosity was immediately piqued but before he could ask Malfoy about it or the floating tray filled with a strange assortment of instruments one of them rushed forward.

“Auror Potter, it’s such a privilege to have you with us.” He said, pushing his glasses up his nose and holding out a hand to shake.

“I’m here quite often to be honest.” Harry replied with a friendly smile “But it’s good to know at least someone is happy about it.” He added.

“Oh, no… I didn’t mean to imply… it’s just an honour to meet you in person, that’s all.” The man replied, stumbling through an apology.

“Yes, Bingley, having Potter here is quite delightful, if we could focus on doing our job now…” Malfoy chastised him in a cold sarcastic tone. It was odd watching it being directed at someone else. Almost disconcerting watching that raised eyebrow and expectant look from a different angle. He usually was front and centre when Malfoy was using that sharp assertive tone.

“I was just ensuring the patient’s comfortable.” The trainee -Bingley- replied, straightening up and hovering next to the bed. How was he unaffected by the clear displeasure written all over Malfoy’s body? Did the man have a death wish? Or maybe he was just completely tone deaf.

“I’m sure Potter is more than comfortable.” Malfoy replied, narrowing his eyes at the trainee. His voice was cutting and smooth, as always, but his posture was rigid instead of the usual relaxed grace he wore effortlessly. Something was very wrong with the whole situation and it was making Harry tense.

“Potter is right here, you know?” Harry mentioned, trying to cut the tension, waving his good hand a little.

“Right, as we were. Brown and Bingley are here to assist me on a series of tests, thanks to your partner’s input we made a list of possible causes for your current condition.” he explained, showing him a roll of parchment he’d brought with him.

“We’ll go down the list until we find the hat that fits the head if you know what I mean.” sent the parchment floating over the head of the bed and arranged the tray in a corner.

“Before we start, how was the night?” he asked, checking the chart to see if the night shift had annotated anything.

“Unremarkable” Harry replied with a small shrug, glad that the tension seemed to dissipate as Malfoy snapped into action “More boring vivid dreams.” He reported giving Malfoy a small smile when he saw him looking down at him.

“And you’re still convinced it’s a bond?” he asked unconvinced. Harry nodded confident in his assessment of the situation, it was just a very boring one.

“It’s hard to describe but it’s not just dreams. It’s like I am another person, I feel what they feel, on some level know what they know… but not really, it’s just…” Harry struggled to put the feeling into words, it wasn’t something easily explained but he knew the sensation intimately.

“Could be transference.” The woman offered, looking at Malfoy for confirmation. Malfoy gave her a short nod of approval and Harry saw her visibly perk up at that, a small smile coming to her face as she turned to address him instead. She reminded him a lot of a young Hermione.

“It’s a common expression of bonds.” She explained to Harry “Even temporary ones often manifest in some form of conscience transference, especially during sleep when we’re less in control of our mental defences.” Harry nodded along. Made a lot of sense.

“See?” He told Malfoy gesturing towards her “She thinks it could be a bond.” He said, that proved his point.

“Far be it from me to doubt your medical expertise on the matter but it could be a million of other things, Potter, that’s what we’re here to find out today.” Malfoy pointed out.

“Apparently in the last twelve months there were twenty-eight separate instances of you being exposed to potential magical degradation or contamination of some form.” Malfoy announced to the room, giving him specifically a stern look.

“For those not adept at math that means you were in a high-risk situation once every two weeks on average.” He doubled down, letting all of his disapproval bleed into his voice. Harry would usually be squirming under the weight of that look but the effect was ruined by Bingley jumping in

“That’s incredible, Auror Potter, you must have such a great arrest record, being in the field so much.” He commented with a wide smile, looking at Harry adoringly.

“It’s just my job, but I’ll be happy to share some stories later.” Harry offered, more than glad to take a stroll down memory lane and recount his more impressive stories on the force. Then he noticed Malfoy’s murderous glare.

“We already established Potter is quite impressive, Bingley” He cut the conversation short.

“Unfortunately, Healer Murphy omitted to properly record the subsequent hospital visits, a mistake neither of you will be repeating if you hope to have a long and prosperous career here.” He fixed both the trainees with a hard look “That leaves us with this fun little exercise. You have the list, and the tools, take it from the top and keep accurate records of the results.” He instructed, stepping back and letting the two of them get to work. He didn’t interfere much, content to hang back and watch them work, offering directions only when asked, mostly to the girl, Brown. Bingley seemed happy to do his own thing, enduring Malfoy’s directions whenever he hesitated over an unfamiliar procedure.

Harry resigned himself to being a lab rat for a while, trying to keep up with the exchanges happening between Malfoy and the two trainees after every test that turned out negative or unhelpful. As they crossed things off the list he could almost taste Malfoy’s frustration growing, which did nothing to help his unease with being constantly touched by strangers that had a tad too little regard for being gentle.

“Healer Malfoy.” Brown called him after wiping off a rune from Harry’s chest “The patch” She pointed at the square of enchanted gauze keeping the hole in his chest stoppered. Malfoy stepped up to take a look at it and hummed.

“It’s losing cohesion.” She mentioned with a concerned look on her face that didn’t comfort Harry at all.

“I know, it’s expected.” He replied with a wave of his hand, dismissing her concern. He flicked his wand crossing off point number ten from the list. “It was never meant to last long, that’s why we need to get through the battery of tests today. I need a clear diagnosis so I can employ a more permanent solution before the patch loses all its charge, so if you would kindly pick up the pace, mr. Bingley.” He looked at the other trainee with a raised eyebrow. The man fumbled with the tools on the tray for a moment before pointing his wand at the list and crossing off another line.

The morning dragged by and around point fifteen the entertainment factor of Malfoy’s frustration with Bingley’s insubordination had worn off. The delight of surprise at the new and strange diagnostic tools Brown pulled up from the tray vanished around test number twenty, leaving only the irritation at being incessantly poked, rubbed, scraped, covered in rocks, powders, liquids, and just generally having strangers touching him and constantly inside his personal space.

They took a break to let him have lunch, thankfully. Bingley insisted on him recounting the events leading up to some of the most unusual damages they were testing for. Harry did not let the occasion pass, maybe embellishing the stories here and there for the benefit of his audience. Malfoy didn’t seem too taken with his tales though, too occupied going over the notes the trainees had taken during the morning, and for some reason that bothered him. He was his patient, why wasn’t Malfoy paying attention to him? Was the stupid list so much more interesting than his success stories?

The conversation veered into tales about his most interesting scars and he was halfway through the tale behind the hairless patch on his arm, trying to render the intensity of the situation via wild gesturing. It wasn’t quite so easy to mime a duel one handed but he managed adequately if he said so himself. Both the trainees were hanging from his lips as he built up to the climax when the door to his room opened and a nurse peeked in.

“Forgive me, Healer Malfoy, but the trainees are needed for a seminar with Healer Andrews.” She informed them. Malfoy turned around when he heard his name, nodding at her.

“Of course, thank you for letting me know.” He replied before addressing the trainees “You two are dismissed, go ahead, Andrews doesn’t tolerate tardiness.” He told them, nodding to the door.

“Maybe I should stay and assist with the last tests?” Bingley tried as Brown hurried to collect her notes.

“I’m perfectly capable of running the last tests by myself, mr Bingley, your presence is required elsewhere.” Malfoy reminded him coldly. “I doubt Healer Andrews will accept your need to fawn over Auror Potter as sufficient cause to miss his seminars.” He added, gesturing to the door and stepping aside, a clear invitation to leave, in case his gritted teeth and the waves of displeasure he was emitting weren’t evident enough.

“Thank you for letting us assist, Healer Malfoy.” Brown called, already halfway out the door.

“You’re welcome, miss Brown” He called after her, a touch of a smile on his face, relaxing his scowl a little.

“So you play favourites, uh?” Harry asked when they were finally alone “Should have known that.” He commented, finishing his steamed vegetables.

“Yes Potter, I favour hardworking trainees over entitled little prats. You should have seen that coming, even though it might be somewhat of an alien concept to you.” Malfoy replied, refilling his glass before sitting down on the chair next to the bed, leafing through the notes as Harry ate. Harry dropped the topic, he knew when not to push, despite what the record might show.

As soon as Harry finished eating Malfoy got busy setting up for the rest of the tests.

“How are we doing, Potter?” He asked after a while “Ready to start again?” He added, pushing away the rolling tray and clearing the space around the bed.

Harry watched him roll up his sleeves up to his elbows, his eyes falling to the faded curves of the dark mark peeking out from under the leather straps of a wand holster. He looked up at Malfoy’s face, looking right back at him.

“You carry your wand on the left” Harry said, a frown on his face.

“Top notch investigative work there, Potter, what of it?” Malfoy asked, a hint of… annoyance? In his voice, Harry realized that his reply had absolutely nothing to do with the question that was asked.

“You’re left handed, it’s on the wrong side.” He pointed out.

“I’m ambidextrous.” Malfoy corrected him “Any other questions about my style choices?” He asked, crossing his arms and looking at Harry waiting for him to say something else about how wrong he was going through life.

“No…” Harry mumbled, looking away, he could swear he’d only seen him use his left hand to cast, but he couldn’t very well say that.

“Good. Do you need a bit more of a break?” Malfoy asked, his voice softening a bit “The next bit isn’t going to be too pleasant.” He warned him.

Harry had spent the morning being poked and prodded by strangers, making him feel like he needed a shower to get the feeling of weird stuff out of his skin, they’d poured at least three different potions all over him and vanishing spells didn’t take away the unpleasant slimy sensation. Usually he would jump at the chance to stop the process and maybe charm his way out of it entirely, but now that it was just him and Malfoy he found he didn’t mind the idea too much, he could deal with Malfoy’s cool hands on him. He’d always been gentle and he never lingered too much, leaving just the ghost of his fingers on his skin.

“I’m fine, go ahead, let’s get to the end of your list.” He replied, twisting his head to glance up at it and see just how many tests were still to be done.

Draco worked quickly and efficiently, first setting up the tests that needed time to react before moving on to the ones that would give an immediate result. With every precise flick of his wand scratching off another line from his list his frustration grew exponentially, his hands tugging at his hair as time ticked by bringing no new information to light. Of course, it had to be the last thing he checked to turn out positive, because it was just how things went for him lately. At least Potter was being quiet and collaborative, maybe a little too quiet, watching him work with an intensity he rarely saw even from first year trainees.

“What are the Petri dishes for?” Potter asked at one point. Draco wanted to think he was getting used to Potter’s logic jumps but this one was too far even for him.

“What in Morgana’s name is a Petri dish?” He asked, running a hand through his hair and taking a slow breath to tamp down the annoyance. Potter pointed to the tray where he’d set up to test his blood for three different reactants.

“Those are Mac Gabhann’s capsules, they insulate from ambient magic, we use them to favour some delicate magical interactions.” He explained.

“So basically magical equivalents of petri dishes.” Potter insisted.

“Sure, whatever that means.” Draco caved throwing his hands up, he didn’t have the patience to discuss muggle practices right now. “I’m going to need to draw some blood and test it.” He told Potter.

He immediately offered up his good arm. Draco closed his fingers around his wrist and gently pressed the tip of his wand to the crook of his elbow murmuring the incantation and letting blood pool there for a moment before pulling the wand away floating the blood after it and splitting it in three parts. He dropped each in a capsule and sealed them before turning back to Potter who was looking at his arm with a frown, gnawing on his bottom lip and trying to rub it against his side.

“I know it feels weird.” Draco mentioned. He placed his hand on Potter’s arm, rubbing a little to dispel the sensation of blood being extracted. “Better?” He asked, giving him a little squeeze before pulling away.

“Yeah, thanks” Potter replied, looking up at him with a small smile before looking back down at his arm. “What now?” He asked, with an eagerness he did not expect from a man who’d been subjected to twenty-six different diagnostics in the span of one day, some less pleasant than others.

“Just two to go while we wait for your blood to react.” Draco replied, picking up a jar of black powder and the potted plant.

“Ok, I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s the plant for?” Potter asked, amusement clear in his voice as he looked at it. At least someone here was having a good time with this exercise in futility.

“It picks up on trace magic better than any revealing spell or diagnostic instrument we’ve created” Draco replied, putting the jar of powder down “Especially when you’re testing for something old, it picks up on things much further than a _prior incantato_.” He explained, slowly hovering the plant over Potter’s feet and moving it up gradually, taking note of the changes in its foliage as it picked up on all that he already knew Potter to have been through, when it started giving up the ghost the closer it got to the point of impact of one of the killing curses Draco pulled it away. No point in burning it pointlessly, black walnut saplings like this were rare and valuable.

He flicked his wand and crossed off the line from the list with a deep sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. Just one left, the weight of his weariness hanging on his shoulders.

“Something interesting?” Potter asked, watching him put the plant away.

“Nothing I didn’t already know.” Draco replied, picking up the jar of powder, sprinkling it liberally over Potter and sending a small jolt of energy through it to jumpstart the reaction, this was it. Unless the blood turned up something useful he’d wasted an entire day and a considerable amount of resources to turn up nothing. The patch had maybe a day and a half before becoming unusable and he was nowhere closer to finding a way to actually heal Potter’s wound.

“Is it supposed to do something?” Potter asked, looking down at his torso sceptically. No sooner than he’d spoken the words the grains started rearranging themselves gathering over the patch and farther up, clustering at his sternum, moving slowly in an amorphous crawling cluster folding in on itself. Draco groaned tugging at his hair and flicking his wand with a little too much force, slashing through the parchment.

“Not good?” Potter asked, looking up at him with wide green eyes. Draco couldn’t help but notice the badly concealed fear on his face.

“It’s supposed to track magic flow, but you’re too bafflingly powerful and your core, as partially depleted as it is, still makes it cluster, so I can’t get a read.” Draco replied, ignoring the hair that had slipped out of the knot at the back of his head as he went to check on the blood, which was of course inert.

He wanted to scream. Twenty-eight tests run and not a step closer to figuring Potter out. He set the list on fire, watching it burn with a grim sense of satisfaction that for a precious moment overcame the pervasive sense of desperation filling his chest. It didn’t last long, soon the list was in ashes and Potter was looking at him with concern shining in his eyes, he was losing it in front of a patient, in front of Potter. He was better than that, he was supposed to be in control, comfort his charges no matter how desperate the situation looked. He took a slow breath re-centring himself.

“What am I missing?” He asked out loud, flopping down on the chair with a sigh. He stared at Potter as if he could parse the solution to the puzzle from his eyes. Potter just looked back at him, helpless, with no answers to offer except for a small shrug and a tentatively encouraging smile. With all the touted heroism he was just a man lying in a hospital bed, his life on the line, and Draco couldn’t do anything to fix him, he had one job to do and when it really counted he couldn’t even do that.

He steepled his fingers in front of his face, his indexes resting on his lips as he mentally went over every test and its results again, Potter’s eyes on him kept him grounded somehow “I tested you for every possible trauma that could reasonably still be affecting you.” He started slowly, speaking his reasoning out lout usually helped and Potter just nodded along as he did.

“Did we forget something?” He asked, his breathing slow and measured as he considered the work of the last two days. Did Finnigan skip something? His eyes wandered to the tray with medical instruments piled up on it and he spotted a pink lens.

Still in its sealed container.

“Goddam Bingley.” He whispered, standing up and picking it up. He quickly broke the seal, bringing the lens up to his eye and squinting when the blinding light coming from Potter hit his eyes. He took a moment to adjust to the brightness, of course Potter’s energy would be so obnoxiously…

There is was.

It was absolutely impossible.

Of course, impossible was to be expected when it came to Potter.

but it was glaringly obvious.

“What do your elf eyes see?” Potter asked, breaking him out of his shock.

“I’m not an elf” He replied, deciding to dismiss Potter’s nonsense for a moment. “I see a solution and more problems” He told him “The residue has coagulated away from your chest wound, so I can fix that without putting you in danger.” He started, a tentative sense of accomplishment sitting in his gut, daring to light a flicker of hope inside him.

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ there.” Potter added, but there was a relieved smile on his face at the news.

“It converged close to your core, which could indicate a bond.” Draco told him, putting the lens down.

“So what you’re saying is I was right from the very beginning?” Potter asked, not even trying not to be too smug about it

“The available evidence points to yes.” Draco conceded “We still don’t know how it came to be since every single test we ran turned up negative. Nothing in your recent missions could have caused something like this, residue doesn’t just migrate on its own.” He started before realization hit him.

He blanched

His breath catching in his throat as he caught on to the glaringly obvious consequence of what he’d just learned.

He collapsed on the chair, bringing a hand to his mouth, dread descending on his shoulders and covering him like a leaden coat threatening to crush him.

“Fuck” It was barely a whisper, his eyes wide as he stared at Potter.

“I did this to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO...  
> I'm incredibly happy with the ending of this chapter and I cannot wait to hear about what you think about it. Things are starting to ramp up and comments make me happy to write more, so be nice and feed a writer.
> 
> Also, big announcement: Q has recently published the last chapter to [ Freedom to be ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16052705/chapters/37477826) so do yourselves a favor and go read it this week while you wait for me to work through next chapter and this pesky thing called academic duties.  
> No, but seriously, shower her with love and treat yourself to some good angst, smut and fluff. It's the full package. You can come back and thank me later.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a few days late but that's how it's going to be for the foreseeable future. Academic work is taking precedence, but I still got your back and I didn't completely skip the week, so kudos to me. The chapter was supposed to be longer, have one more scene in it, but I decided to post it as is so you'd get something before June.  
> There's a lot of classical music in this one.

Harry watched powerless as Malfoy gradually unravelled before him. It was a frightening sight, like an earthquake opening the ground beneath his feet, the unbridled powers of nature unleashing destruction. Malfoy had been cool, in control and solid in the midst of uncertainty, seeing him blanche and crumble in the chair sent Harry’s guts twisting, he had no more secure anchors if Malfoy lost his resolve, he had no solid ground to stand on.

He stared back at bis healer, a multitude of emotions swirling like storm clouds inside the grey eyes fixed on him but looking a thousand miles away.

“Malfoy, talk to me, what’s going on?” He asked softly after a long tense moment of silence “please.” His fear showing in his voice despite his best effort. That seemed to do the trick, Malfoy’s eyes focused on him, clarity returning to them.

“You’re going to be fine.” Malfoy told him, the hard steel returning to his voice as he got up and touched the tip of his wand to the hospital crest on his uniform “Dana, I need you in Potter’s room immediately.” Harry could hear the woman’s voice confirming she’d received the message and she was on her way coming back clear through the communication spell.

“Malfoy?” Harry tried again to get Malfoy’s attention, he needed to know what exactly he’d seen to make him react like that.

“You’re going to be ok, Potter.” Malfoy told him again, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze for a moment, there was certainty on his face and Harry nodded slowly, willing himself to believe that Malfoy knew what he was doing.

“We’re going to heal your chest wound now.” He informed him just as Healer Dana walked through the door.

“What’s the emergency?” She asked, looking around the room to try and determine what got Malfoy to call her in such a hurry. Draco walked up to her and turned her away from Potter’s bed with a gentle touch on her elbow, they were far enough and spoke quietly so that he couldn’t quite listen in on the exchange.

Draco had already made a horrid mistake, two actually. The second one admitting responsibility out loud in front of Potter. It was the first thing one learned: don’t admit a mistake in front of a patient if you don’t want to get sued.

“What’s going on, Malfoy?” Dana asked softly, glancing at the bed over her shoulder.

“I want to close his chest wound right now.” He told her with no preamble.

“What about the residue?” she frowned

“It migrated away from the wound, we’re clear and the patch has maybe another day, day and a half in it anyway.” Draco explained

“It migrated?” she was unconvinced “I think we should look into that if the patch gives us another day.” she pointed out

“I’m the one who doesn’t have another day. The preliminary hearing is tomorrow.” He told her, his shoulders slightly hunched “I want to finish the job while I still can.”

Dana nodded with a small sigh “Alright. Are you sure it’s safe though? Residue doesn’t just migrate on its own.” She insisted.

“I think I know what happened there too.” Draco admitted, tugging on the strap of his holster, not quite meeting her eyes “I believe the residue hasn’t been around Potter’s wound ever since he got out of surgery. We didn’t notice it had moved because we were monitoring its quantity not its position. We assumed that residue doesn’t just migrate on its own.” He started laying out his theory, it was the only one that made sense “Potter flatlined while I was elbow deep into his core, and as soon as he started dying all the power in his body retreated back inside him, including the extraneous magic I had connected him to by opening his core. When I pulled out and his heart started beating again it must have settled where it was, coagulating around itself and Potter’s core.” He finished, looking up from his hands to her face.

“And you’re sure it’s not going to interfere, even from the new position?” Dana pushed.

“It’s highly likely the ritual I performed caused the residue to form a pseudo bond with Potter’s magic.” Draco admitted through gritted teeth. If the unsanctioned magic wasn’t going to get him fired, then this would, and he’d fucked up a perfectly good Auror too.

“For Rowena’s pointy shoes, Draco.” She gasped, finally getting the whole picture.

“I know, I know it looks very bad and it was all my doing, so I need to fix what’s fixable before I get kicked out of the order.” He needed to do one thing right that could prop him up in front of the committee the next day.

“Ok, let’s put this man back together.” She nodded, determination filling her voice as she turned around.

“Alright, mr Potter, we’re fixing your chest today.” She announced with a bright smile. “I’ll go get a blood replenisher and the stasis delimitators and leave you in Healer Malfoy’s very capable hands for a moment.” She added, gently squeezing Draco’s shoulder.

“So…” Potter looked up at him warily.

“Everything is fine, Potter.” Draco told him, trying to sound as comforting as he possibly could. He rearranged the tools on the tray and pushed it aside. “There were developments of my intervention on you that we didn’t account for,” he explained “but now we know and we’ll take care of it. We can fix your chest and then let you sleep.” He promised, hoping it would be enough to reassure him.

“Are you sure you’re good to operate?” Potter asked softly, looking up at him with a mix of concern and uncertainty on his face. He’d lost all credibility in Potter’s eyes, and he didn’t even know the half of it, he’d acted like a first year trainee, he should have known better.

“I can assure you Healer Malfoy is more than capable.” Dana caught the tail end of the conversation as she walked back in.

“I’ve been doing it for almost a decade, you’re in good hands.” Draco reassured him, Potter nodded again and relaxed into the bed, whatever he saw on his face, enough to make him trust again, at least a little. Draco let Dana prepare Potter for surgery. She cast a sanitization spell and fixed the delimitators to Potter’s shoulders and his hips. As soon as the last one was attached a faint white glimmer connected them.

“Oh, that feels so weird” Potter chuckled, looking down at himself, reaching up to poke at his own side, giggling at the sensation “What is this?” He asked.

“A tiny stasis field” Draco replied “This way we don’t need to knock you out and it preserves your brain from adverse reactions to total stasis. That said we can still sedate you if you’d rather sleep through the procedure.” Draco offered, people didn’t necessarily like to see healers work on their bodies, and the disconnect from one’s own body wasn’t always a pleasant experience.

“Oh, no, I definitely want to watch.” Potter replied, sounding almost excited at the prospect.

“Are you sure?” Dana asked, a little frown on her face. Potter just nodded, looking up at them with a small smile.

“I can always look away if it gets to be too much, can’t I?” He pointed out. Dana shrugged and dropped it.

“Suit yourself.” Draco told him, taking his wand out and casting a sanitization spell on himself while Dana arranged the monitors to keep track of Potter’s blood pressure and oxygenation, setting all the other vitals in the background.

“Ready when you are.” Dana gave him the go ahead and he rescinded the adhesion charm keeping the patch on Potter’s chest. He levitated it away and blood started trickling out of the wound at a sedated pace.

Harry found himself watching Malfoy’s hands as he worked with unabashed fascination. He couldn’t quite feel it when Malfoy touched him but he could see almost everything with a weird feeling of detachment. Malfoy’s eyebrows were pinched with deep concentration as he assessed the wound, and his hands quick and precise as he worked. Harry found himself relaxing, his breath matching the slow and steady pace of Malfoy’s as he weaved the intricate spell-work on him. Harry didn’t have a great vantage point on the wound and he didn’t want to squirm too much, lest he mess things up, he wasn’t really interested in watching the bloody mess on his chest, stasis or not Healer Dana had vanished blood off his wound twice already.

The way the light from the window caught on the stray locks of Malfoy’s hair was much more interesting anyway. The arch of his wrist as he traced slow spirals with his wand, gradually healing the slash was more fascinating than anything that could be happening to his torso, so was the way Malfoy’s teeth closed around his wand when he slipped it in his mouth to have both hands free. That was a horrible habit to have, there were holsters for that. It was so completely out of character that Harry started wondering what other absurdly improper quirks were hiding behind Malfoy’s perfectly polished exterior. What could he find prying apart the cracks in Malfoy’s mask? But it was such a pretty mask… Maybe Harry didn’t want to break it per se, maybe just have a peek at what was behind it.

It took a couple hours to finish closing his wound, Healer Dana told him so when he asked. Two hours with Malfoy curved over him, the strangely familiar spark of his magic washing over him, making him whole again. She helped him drink down the blood replenisher while Malfoy vanished all the blood from his torso and lifted the stasis by taking off the tiny cloth squares from his body. Harry shivered as sensation immediately flooded back into his body, it was hot and cold and then like his entire torso had fallen asleep and was now full of ants. It only lasted a couple of seconds, thankfully.

“That was unpleasant.” He commented, shifting a little to try and get a better sense of his body.

“Sorry, people are usually asleep when we lift the stasis” Malfoy apologized, carefully applying a salve to his chest. The skin was pink and tender under his fingers, feeling almost fragile, like a barely healed burn. Malfoy’s cool fingers on him felt great, alleviating the tightness and bringing feeling back into the area. He wrapped him up in bandages, smoothing the edges down with a gentle swipe of his hand before addressing him.

“You’ll be good as new by tomorrow morning.” He said, straightening up and reaching for a towel to get rid of the slimy residue on his hands. “The skin discoloration might linger for a while, but it usually fades with enough time.” He added.

“You’re saying I won’t have a cool scar to show for my trouble?” Harry asked with a small smile.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, because I don’t do shoddy work,” Malfoy replied, his tone straight and light “but I’m sure Healer Murphy will be happy to provide you with a number of those.” He added matter-of-factly. Dana snorted behind her hand, unable to keep it straight hearing Malfoy’s unsubtle jabs.

Harry nodded along to the instructions, reaching for the covers to pull them back up. Being able to move more freely now that there wasn’t a gaping hole smack in the middle of his chest was a nice boon, he couldn’t wait to have his other hand back as well. Malfoy seemed to be a little more himself after successfully patching him up, the deadpan dressing down of his colleagues felt right.

“I’ll leave instructions for the night shift about your pain management regime, if you get uncomfortable just ask to up your dosage.” Malfoy picked up the chart and jotted down the appropriate annotations about the procedure, he had Healer Dana sign off as well and put it back in place and then finally looked Harry in the face.

 “Anything else you need?” He asked, helping Harry get the far corner of his sheet after he struggled to reach over his left shoulder to cover himself.

“Just food I guess.” Harry replied with a shrug.

“Alright, dinner will be here any minute now, we’ll leave you to it.” Dana smiled, gathering up all the equipment and following Malfoy out.

* * *

 

There was a message from Pansy waiting for Draco at home.

_Draco, Blaise told me. I’ll be there in the morning with your new robes to get you ready. P_

Draco sighed, tracing the flourished curls of the P taking over the bottom side of the parchment. He loved Pansy dearly, and he certainly appreciated her craftmanship, her art, but he’d wished he could spare her the trouble this one time. There was going to be no triumphant exit from the hospital the following afternoon, radiant in Pansy’s elaborate garments. Not even Blaise could save him this time. He’d slipped. No, it hadn’t been a slip, he’d known what he was getting into, it was no mistake. He’d taken a calculated risk to save Potter’s life and ended up setting his career on fire.

He sent a note back to her, there was no point in trying to dissuade her, and deep down he didn’t want to. He needed to have her infusing new fight into him if he was going to go through the hearing and the subsequent investigation.

_Blaise should learn about client-attorney confidentiality. But thank you, same time as always, I’ll get Soup to make the cherry clafoutis you like._

Draco decided he needed to take a nice long bath to wash the day out of his skin, take Blaise’s advice and take care of himself a little. Light a candle or two, add some essential oils, let the water work its magic… He was almost dozing off, his head resting on the side of the bathtub when Pansy’s reply arrived, making him smile and ache at the same time.

_If you told me things Blaise wouldn’t have to break confidentiality, so you should really take responsibility for that. Tomorrow night you’re coming out with us and Daphne to Sadistique, whatever way tomorrow goes you need a night off and you’ve been sorely missed. No argument, Healer’s orders._

Draco smiled at Pansy pulling “Healer’s orders” on him and dropped the note on the floor, sinking lower into the water. They were worried for him, enough to get Daphne involved, he almost expected his mother to jump in any moment now, Soup was definitely in league with them. He rubbed absently at his chest, feeling a familiar ache bloom behind his sternum. They loved him and he was making it exceedingly hard for them to care for him. He should have some things figured out by now, like how to properly deal with his job situation. Or how to get his personal life on track, he wasn’t getting any younger, at his age his mother was happily married, having had him already.

He eventually dragged himself out of the bath and shared a light dinner with Soup before turning in early. He mentioned Pansy would be coming around for breakfast and wasn’t surprised in the least to hear Soup mention having just acquired a jar Pansy’s favourite jam and cherries.

* * *

 

Morning arrived quietly, the rising sun creeping in through the blinders cut the room in neat slices of light and shade.

Draco woke up before his alarm had a chance to go off, the weight of the day crashing on him the moment he opened his eyes. He took a slow breath, letting the air out from his mouth and steeled himself against the day ahead. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror, straightened his back and squared his shoulders before opening the cabinet to take out the razor.

He washed his face, the water lending warmth to his skin for a fleeting moment. He moved with practiced precision as he shaved. Each kiss of the blade left his jaw smooth in its wake. when he moved down to shave under his chin he slowed down his breath. A familiar stillness filled him, all his focus narrowing into measured movements in a perfect economy of power as he leaned into the ritual to find a center. He washed off the excess soap and ran a finger along his jaw appreciating the smoothness left behind by the goblin steel before picking up his brush to take care of his hair.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom the smell of strong coffee was wafting out of the kitchen and Pansy was setting up his record player when he walked in the room.

"What are we listening today?" He asked. It was a well-practiced ritual by now. Pansy would come over, have breakfast or lunch with him, present him with her latest creation, everything to a choice musical background, apparently this time it was opera.

"Mozart, the magic flute, my pick of arias." She replied, straightening up with a smile as the first lilting notes of papageno's aria filled the air.

"Now chop chop, Soup made me clafoutis and you need to eat something too." This wasn't usually the hard part. He usually didn't have his stomach twisted into knots. Eating felt like a feat right then but following Pansy's energy was doable. Papageno helped. The trill of the glockenspiel infusing some artificial happiness into his dreary mood. Pansy chatted about her latest project while Draco forced himself to down some food. The honey tasted like ash on his tongue and not even the coffee brought him joy. He did catch on to the third repeat of the queen of the night aria and raised an eyebrow in question at Pansy.

"What? Diana Damrau is exceedingly talented, and this is one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written" Pansy argued, just a touch too quickly and too vehemently.

"Is she now?" He teased, the barest hint of a smile touching his lips.

"Shut up, she is, and she was stunning in the costumes I made for the royal opera house." Pansy lifted her chin defiant.

"And how does she look without?" He asked casually.

"A lady doesn't kiss and tell."

"Sometimes a lady doesn't kiss at all." Draco shot back. Pansy didn't dignify that with an answer but teasing her about her very obvious, incredibly unsubtle crush on the opera singer distracted Draco enough to finish his toast and have another piece with his coffee while Pansy polished off her clafoutis, showering Soup with much deserved praise for his cooking.

As the last notes of "una voce poco fa" floated through the air Draco stood. They didn't have much time left to lose. He didn't have to speak for Pansy to follow him into his bedroom, picking up the robes on the way. She hung them to Draco’s wardrobe and opened the garment bag, showing off the content. The robes were stunning, of course, there wasn't a garment made by Pany that was less than. But this ensemble was beyond. A black so pure it was vaguely disquieting to look at, accented with polished metal at the collar and at the shoulders. The two sides connected with a fine chain at the neck and the motif repeated down the double breast of the waistcoat hanging inside the robes, each pair of buttons connected, the silver bringing light to the garment and setting off its stunning darkness.

"Full outfit for this one." Pansy smiled proudly, showing off her work.

As he got closer he noticed it wasn't just black, it was almost like damask, sinewy figures running through the fabric black on black, there was a floral natural theme to them but abstract enough to need a close inspection and a bit of imagination to interpret. The back of the robes was occupied by a phoenix in flight, in the same translucent black thread, almost invisible under the low light. Its wings spread out to the full width of the shoulders, its neck curving over the left shoulder and peeking over to the front just barely.

“What's the material?" Draco asked, touching it to feel the fabric.

"Silk and Thesral hair" Draco's eyes widened in surprise "It took a long time to collect it and figure out how to work it, I had to weave it myself the muggle way, it was a pain, but look at the results!" Pansy ran a hand down the sleeve, glowing with pride.

"So it can be truly seen only by someone familiar with death." Draco commented, looking at it with a new understanding.

"It's a garment fit for a warrior." She nodded.

"What does it look like to the uninitiated?" Draco asked, wondering if he was about to pull an emperor's new clothes kind of stunt. Not like it would make the situation much worse than it already was.

"Apparently it invokes a profound feeling of unease and vague unexplainable sense of existential dread." Pansy reported "That's what my apprentices tell me anyway. Now get naked and let me do my job."

Draco slowly took off his clothes as the first notes of Bach's Aria on the G string caressed his ears. Every movement was measured, stripping off his pyjamas until he stood defenceless in front of Pansy, his underwear doing little to protect him as her gaze pierced him to the bone. He stood straighter, widened his stance a little and squared his shoulders. Only then she handed him a shirt. It was a ghost white colour she often told him brought out the colder shades of his eyes making him look aristocratic and intimidating _it's not a colour you should wear around children_ had been her exact words. It slid on like a glove, settling on his shoulders like a second skin. As he buttoned it up he felt his breathing slow down, the tension loosening from his shoulders and coalescing into something solid in his chest. With every piece Pansy handed him his armour hardened, every button done closed a crack, a new vulnerability covered as the sharp lines of Pansy's clothes hugged his body, containing his rage, caging his frustration and infusing him with a strength he didn't have. He stood still under Pansy's hands as she adjusted the fit and connected the chains of his waistcoat. Then, he finally met his own cold stare in the mirror for a moment and saw his father's face staring back at him.

"This isn't right" He murmured. The sight was foreign, it sent a shot of disgust through him. This wasn't him. It was all wrong.

"Not yet." Pansy summoned a stool in front of the mirror "Sit." she ordered. He did, still staring at himself in the mirror. The perfectly creased trousers, the belt, the hair, he was only missing the darned cane. He took a deep breath, feeling the waistcoat resist against the push of his chest, giving him something to focus on.  He closed his eyes, focusing on Pansy’s hands in his hair and the music floating in from the living room, the slow build and flow of the strings lulling him back into calm. He gradually settled into the weight of his clothes, embracing the feeling of being contained, protected, held up, his friends were lending him strength and he was going to welcome it, let it fill him.

He wasn’t sure how long it was before Pansy tapped his shoulder to get his attention. He blinked and looked at the mirror, studying himself. She’d worked the side of his head into two tight braids on each side, swiping up into a loose ponytail. As he turned his head to study the style he caught the subtle intricacies of the small braids she’d weaved in his ponytail, each ending with a metal ring. It was meant for war, there was no mistaking it.

“What do you think?” She rested her hands on his shoulders, meeting his eyes in the mirror. He just nodded at her.

“It’s perfect” He stood and took the cufflinks Soup was offering him, quickly putting them on.

Pansy took the robes off their hanger and held them out to Draco with a small smile. He draped them on his shoulders with an expert move, letting them flutter and settle for a moment, their weight grounding and comforting as they wrapped around him, only one thing left to seal him in his armour.

Soup was already back next to him with a small box in his hand, two heavy ornate rings in it. The Black signet ring went on his left hand, covering the silver band on his ring finger, the Malfoy one on the right. And then the pieces were all where they were meant to be. He stood in silence for a moment, looking at himself in the mirror, then he linked the last chain, holding his robes together at his collar and turned away.

“Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What to say about this chapter? It's kinda short and not much happened at all. The action got left out. But sometimes that's how it goes.  
> Diana Damrau is an actual person and she indeed played the Queen of the night at the Royal Opera House of London wearing truly stunning costumes [check it out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YuBeBjqKSGQ) and tell me there isn't something magical about it. Pansy's crush might be based on real life events, sue me.  
> In case you were interested here is the rest of the music mentioned in this chapter  
> [Papageno's aria](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cNuuH1gieBg)  
> [Una voce poco fa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RvW9cUCuPQI)  
> [aria on the G string](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rrVDATvUitA)  
> Be kind and throw me a bone, just a couple of words in the comment section are going to make my day and keep me writing during these trying times.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHE LIVES!  
> I'm alive. Thank you all for your patience, but things will still be spotty for a while. Work has been taking up most of my time, and study has been taking up the rest.
> 
> This chapter is a bit of a rollercoaster and we finally get to the moment we've been dreading for a while: Draco's first hearing. 
> 
> I know it's been two weeks and some but the new chapter is long and it's published so I consider it a win.
> 
> I feel like I should warn that there's discussion of grief, in particular the loss of a child. It's quick but I feel like fairly intense. I'll put the spoiler in the end notes if anyone needs it.
> 
> As usual unbeta'd if you see something say something.

Draco walked through the busy halls of the hospital with purpose, flanked by Blaise and Pansy. The way people parted to let them through could only mean that Pansy’s work was having its intended effect. Blaise made for a fetching sight next to him, a sharp suit under formal robes that exuded power in the best way possible, power, competence, and all the self-assurance a man could have.

Once they reached the conference room Pansy kissed both their cheeks and wished them good luck, after that she was gone, headed to her studio to prepare for the fashion week.

And then they waited.

Andrews didn't tolerate tardiness unless it was his own apparently. It was just ten minutes before they were called in, but it was the principle of it, the implicit show of power in leaving someone waiting, that irritated Draco. The committee was supposed to be a neutral body, it should be supporting the staff, troubleshooting problematic circumstances and setting up protocols to prevent them from happening again, not a place to appease the power fantasy of some individuals.

Draco lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders tugging slightly on the lapels to make sure the robes fell right on his body and walked in, followed by Blaise half a step behind.

The committee was already gathered, sitting behind the long table. Andrews, head of the committee and chief of the poison ward, in the middle and then two on each side. The lack of seats for him and Blaise could only be on purpose, forcing them to stand under judgment like postulants. Well, if he couldn't sit he was going to stand tall and loom over them all, they did put themselves in the perfect position to be looked down on. He stood a pace away from the desk, with his hands clasped behind his back, he took a moment to settle and then spoke.

"Healer Andrews, esteemed members of the committee," he acknowledged each of them with a nod "shall we proceed? I'm sure you have much more pressing matters to attend to." He gave an imperceptible tilt of his head, subtly taking control of the room by inviting them to start the proceedings.

Andrews didn’t seem fazed by Draco’s display, if not for the subtle way his eyes didn’t seem able to linger on his robes, flicking back to the papers in front of him or to Blaise. Draco felt a little of his nervous energy drain away, as though his unease transferred out to the spectators. The right clothes did hold power after all.

“Healer Malfoy, we’re here to open the investigation on your misconduct regarding the care of Auror Potter, in particular the use of unsanctioned magic during his emergency procedure.” Draco stood straight under the scrutiny of the committee while Andrews read out the allegations.

“We have examined the reports and heard the accounts of the equipe” Andrews started.

“Accounts that are unusable, since you collected them before making formal allegations.” Blaise smoothly stepped in “We would never impinge in Healer Malfoy’s right to defence, would we?”

“Of course not.” Andrews didn’t falter “The reports were more than detailed enough for us to get a clear picture of the situation.”

Blaise hummed “I’m very happy to hear you say that. We move to expedite the proceeding, given Healer Malfoy’s collaborative disposition towards the committee and the abundance of evidence.” He stated with a conciliatory smile, the elegance of his performance was mesmerizing, he was playing Andrews against himself.

Andrews placed his elbow on the table clasped his hands and leaned closer “I wouldn’t call it abundance of evidence. All the reports are from Healer Malfoy himself. We have no guarantee they are accurate.” He raised an eyebrow in challenge at Blaise.

“They are all signed by Healer Dana or Nurse Roberts as well, so unless you’re investigating them for falsifying medical records I’d say they stand.” Blaise waved the objection away with a casual swipe of his hand. That seemed to give the committee a moment of pause, some very pointed looks were exchanged. Draco felt a cold chill run down his back, were they going to disregard the reports and base their judgment on spotty testimonial evidence? But Andrews nodded “Fair enough, we’ll expedite the proceeding. The reports are still very incriminating” He pointed out, relaxing back in his chair.

Blaise nodded “Testament to their authenticity, Healer Malfoy has nothing to gain by submitting them if they weren’t true.”

“Very well. As it stands, Healer Malfoy, you have knowingly employed a procedure expressly forbidden by the Order of Healers, performing a tap into the magical core of Auror Potter. That without obtaining informed consent from the patient or the next of kin. You also failed to ensure you had the proper supporting equipe during the procedure.” He listed off his sins.

“Auror Potter was unconscious and a next of kin wasn’t available to give consent in time. As head of the equipe working on him it was my call to make.” Draco replied without hesitation “As far as proper support goes, to mi knowledge, there is no healer in Britain trained to perform such procedure since, as you pointed out, it’s not approved by the BOH.” Draco managed not to sound condescending by some miracle, but my Merlin he wanted to so badly.

“Nonetheless the committee cannot ignore the fact that you used unsanctioned procedures on a patient. That is not something we take lightly.” Draco nodded, fully aware of the cost of his actions. “It compromises the safety of our patient and we cannot abide that.”

“Auror Potter’s safety has not been compromised by Healer Malfoy’s actions at all, quite the opposite in fact.” Blaise stepped in again, pulling Andrews’ attention “As the reports clearly show Healer Malfoy followed procedure to stabilize him and stepped outside the sanctioned limits only when Auror Potter proved unresponsive to conventional treatment, effectively saving his life. Auror Potter is suffering no negative consequences from Healer Malfoy’s actions.”

“Auror Potter is currently under the effect of a… I believe you defined it as a /pseudo-bond/ as a direct result of Malfoy’s intervention.” Andrews interjected. Draco avoided Blaise’s look.

“One could reasonably argue it’s still better than being dead.” Blaise pointed out.

“But it doesn’t erase Healer Malfoy’s responsibility. And until the investigation is over we believe reasonable to suspend him without pay.” Andrews stated. Draco took a slow breath, it was fine, if Dana could fix Potter quickly enough he would be fine.

“Your allegations aren’t substantial enough to warrant a suspension without pay, and given Healer Malfoy’s transparency and cooperation it would be unreasonable to suspend him at all.” Blaise argued, stepping closer to the table. Draco could feel the axe coming down on him in a very tangible twist in his gut.

“We don’t have the full picture yet. By acting as a conduit for Auror Potter’s power, Healer Malfoy opened himself and his patient up to unpredictable consequences. Until we know more about this pseudo-bond we cannot in good conscience leave Auror Potter in his care, or any other patient for that matter.” Andrews’ voice was steady and reasonable and Draco hated that he was right for once, that his gloating would be justified.

“For all we know Auror Potter could be bonded to Healer Malfoy just as much as he could be in a feedback loop with himself. Whatever the case might be, Healer Malfoy is unfit to be his Healer.” Blaise couldn’t counter that argument but there were other ways to soften the blow, if he couldn’t argue merit he could argue procedure.

“Still, you have no grounds to stand on for cutting his pay.” Blaise insisted “And I will remind you that you agreed to expedite proceedings. Unless something substantial comes up in the next three days this will be dropped and stricken from Healer Malfoy’s record.” Andrews’ was about to argue but he was interrupted by a redhead woman on his left wearing the cerulean robes of a mind healer.

“I believe that is a very reasonable request. Healer Malfoy will be suspended with pay until the end of our investigation. We’ll reconvene in three days to pronounce on the issue definitively.” She was calm and assertive in a way that reminded Draco of a young McGonagall in a way he never thought possible. Andrews didn’t find it in himself to argue. He exchanged looks with the rest of the committee and then addressed them again “If no one has any objection that’s how we’ll proceed.”

Draco gave Blaise the tiniest shake of his head. It was already more than he’d hoped to get out of this hearing, and he trusted that in three days things wouldn’t be much different.

“One last thing to decide. Since Healer Malfoy’s relieved of his duty I believe Auror Potter should go back to Healer Murphy.” Andrews started. That would not do. Draco stepped up immediately. That oaf would find a way to kill Potter before Draco had even left the hospital, or, more accurately, he would let Potter kill himself with unchecked reckless idiocy.

“That won’t be necessary, he’s already under the care of Healer Dana.” He informed them “She’s already involved, no need to change his primary Healer again.” He could tell Andrews wasn’t happy about it, but there wasn’t much he could do, they’d already established Dana as above reprimand, so they had no reason to push her out.

“Well, gentlemen, I believe that settles everything.” The same woman spoke up before Andrews could come up with something else “Thank you for your collaboration, Healer Malfoy, Mr Zabini, we will see you in three days. Esteemed members of the committee this hearing has already taken up enough of my time.” She announced before standing up and leaving the room. Draco had to restrain himself from grinning. She effectively prevented them from continuing by collapsing the plenum. Without her they didn’t have the legal number to take any decision and that was it for the day. He had no idea who that woman was but he owed her.

Andrews watched her retreating back, completely baffled before resigning himself to the reality of it.

“I suppose Healer Moreschi made the decision for us. You’re dismissed.” He told them.

Draco walked out of the room without a second of hesitation, a strange feeling of detachment from his body as he took one precise step after the other, the robes billowing behind him, the only thing that felt real was the clinking of the chains on his vest.

“I hate how you aim the curse at your own foot” Blaise said once the door was closed between them and the committee. Draco sighed, Blaise’s voice pulling him back in the present. It had gone much better than he’d expected, it was just a three day suspension and they weren’t going to find anything more than they already knew from his reports, there was nothing else to find. Three days and then he’d go back to normal, or three days and then he’d be out of a job.

“If I didn’t they would aim it at my head.” He replied, finally looking at Blaise, seeing the concern in his face, in his eyes, burning on his tongue, Blaise didn’t need to speak it for Draco to know.

“That doesn’t make me like it any better.” Blaise grimaced looking at the closed door.

“If I didn’t put everything in the reports they would call it falsification of medical record and have my job.” Draco reminded him “But it’s ok, it’s done. I will invest these three days into taking care of myself and get back to doing my job once they decide how they’re going to deal with my transgression.” Draco sat on one of the plastic chairs outside the conference room “There is no real damage done, Potter’s with Dana either way, and with you at my back I always land on my feet.” He gave Blaise a small smile, but he still looked unconvinced.

“You better not find an excuse to skip out on tonight.” Blaise told him “I have to go do my actual job, but if you don’t check in with Pansy by lunch time I’m coming after you.” Draco nodded.

“I’ll be there, I swear, and I’ll send a note to Pansy as soon as I get home, I just have to talk to Dana first.” Draco reassured him, apparently that was enough to convince Blaise to leave.

* * *

 

For once Harry woke up feeling well rested. He could breathe more freely and even though his chest still felt sore and somewhat fragile he felt better than he’d been since he woke up in st Mungo. It felt like recovery was an actual possibility and the sight of his left arm, lying limply at his side wasn’t quite as jarring. Nurse Hanson brought him a stack of letters along with breakfast, apparently people were starting to write him well wishes for a speedy recovery and she thought he’d enjoy having something to read.

His mood only got better when Healer Dana came to check in on him and confirmed that his chest looked good and in a few days they’d probably be able to start reconstructing his arm. The only discordant note in an otherwise perfectly harmonious morning was the lack of Malfoy’s scathing sarcasm injecting adrenaline in his day.

He supposed the man was owed a day off at some point, but it was disruptive to his routine. Wasn’t routine something people in recovery needed?

Disruption didn’t seem too bad when it was Teddy and Andromeda walking in around eleven, arms full of packages.

“Harry! Grandma said you got hurt but we couldn’t come see you until you were a little better.” Teddy  greeted him, carefully piling the packages on the nightstand “Are you a little better?” he asked, looking at him intently, trying to determine what /a little better/ would look like.

“I am, bud, the Healers have put me back together almost all the way.” He smiled at his godson who gave him back a bright grin. Teddy took that as permission to climb on the bed and settle in next to Harry, thankfully on his good side.

“Thanks for coming, Andy.” He told Andromeda as she transfigured the plastic chair into something a little more comfortable to settle in.

“You skipped tea last week and Teddy would not have it.” She replied, smiling at her boys.

Teddy nodded “That’s right, you never skipped tea, so we brought tea to you, and some other things from Molly, and there’s books from Hermione because she said you might like them, and George snuck in some new products because he said you need to have fun, he said fun is the best medicine.” Harry chuckled, wrapping an arm around Teddy’s shoulders. The kid was always a breath of fresh air, Harry couldn’t love him more, he had the whole family charmed, falling all over each other to win the title of favourite. Harry knew the honour was safely his, not even Ginny could compete.

“Thank you, Teddy, I have been a little bored here,” He admitted “and I missed you when I didn’t make it for tea, I’m sorry about that.” He apologized. He never skipped his weekly tea at Andromeda’s if he could help it, especially now that Teddy was away most of the year at Hogwarts. He only got to see him during holydays and the summer, but now Teddy had endless stories about classes and out of class shenanigans to fill the days. He was growing fast and in a safe, peaceful world like his parents wished for him.

“It’s ok, we can make up for it today.” Teddy reassured him with a determined look on his face that only made Harry smile brighter as Andromeda set up for tea on the rolling tray.

“Have you gone shopping for school supplies already?” He asked Teddy.

“Yes! We went on Saturday and I have so many new books. I can’t wait to start classes again, and Ginny helped me train a little more when we went to the burrow. You’ll see, I’ll make the team, Kenny, our seeker, graduated last year and Ginny said I got much better this summer. She thinks I’d be a good seeker.” Teddy beamed as he reported his progress to Harry. He barely took a breath before delving into detailed recounts of his latest training session with Ginny and asking about Harry’s time as a seeker for Gryffindor. Harry was more than happy to indulge him, retelling the most exciting games and sharing strategy and techniques he’d learned during his years on the team.

“As soon as I get out of the hospital we can go flying together again,” He promised “so you can show me all the new tricks you’ve learned.” He smiled, squeezing his shoulder.

“I already started reading my divination book.” He told Harry after Andromeda served tea. She chuckled at the mention of it shaking her head, and Harry knew there was a story there.

“He’s in a terribly inconvenient position, you see, he usually has Hermione to discuss academics, but she absolutely refuses to consider divination in any academic context.” She explained with a fond smile, making Harry giggle at the memory of Hermione’s contentious relationship with the divinatory arts.

“Ah, yes. It’s the only class where Ron and I did better than her, and we were absolutely rubbish at it. She quit after three classes or so.” He told Teddy, shifting a little to make space for him to get comfortable with his cup of tea. “You’re thinking about taking it?” He asked. And that opened up the discussion about fourth year electives, apparently Teddy had given them a lot of thought, enough to have a list of pros and cons for each.

They were halfway through dissecting the new muggle studies course when Malfoy walked in.

He looked like he dropped out of a wet dream, clad in black robes, flowing around him like they were liquid and his hair done up like some northern warrior god. He had at least three layers of clothes on him and he still painted the most erotic picture Harry had ever seen. How he didn’t die from overheating dressed like that in the middle of August was a whole different question, one Harry’s brain did not have enough blood to ask at the moment. Harry was too busy ogling to worry about Teddy jumping down the bed and charging at the man with a delighted cry of “Draco!”.

Malfoy had the presence of mind to catch the boy in his arms as he crashed into him, his robes enveloping Teddy almost completely as he took a step back to absorb the force of Teddy’s impact. What happened next sent Harry spinning. Malfoy smiled, like an actual human being, upturned lips and crinkling eyes as his face filled with warmth, his hands rubbing Teddy’s back “hello, Edward.” He even nuzzled his hair a little with a familiar intimacy that left Harry filled with confusion and strange unnameable feelings all twisted up inside him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I didn’t know you had visitors.” He apologized to Harry, still not letting go of Teddy, who didn’t seem to mind at all.

“You’re no bother, Draco.” Andromeda replied with a smile “Would you like to join us for tea?” She offered. Malfoy declined politely as Teddy pulled back a little from where he was nestled in the dark folds of Malfoy’s robes.

“You’re dressed scary, I like it.” He announced looking at Malfoy’s clothes “Your robes are super cool.” He ran a hand down the lapel, studying it with furrowed brows. That did the trick and kicked Harry’s brain back online. Just as Malfoy said something about introducing Teddy to the designer he called

“Why the civvies?” Malfoy finally looked up at him.

“I’m not on duty.” He replied like it was obvious.

“And yet here you are” Harry pointed out.

“And yet here I am.” Malfoy echoed him, holding his gaze, waiting for Harry to point out some more obviousness.

"Harry was telling me about how you played against each other a lot in school." Teddy mentioned, interrupting his inspection of Draco’s robes "Said he always won." He added with a wide innocent grin that fooled exactly nobody.

Malfoy scoffed "I let him win because his life was just tragic." He replied, the glint of amusement in his eyes unmistakable and so foreign that Harry did not have the processing capacity to find a suitable retort. Teddy narrowed his eyes at him.

"You shouldn't lie! We don't tell lies." He reprimanded him.

"You're right, mon choux, I'm sorry, I'm just teasing." The ease with which Malfoy bent to Teddy's reprimand made Harry's breath catch in his throat. Who was this man? "Truth is your godfather was the better seeker, but that's just about the only thing he bested me at." He amended.

"I was a better duelist, still am." Harry eventually managed, latching to the one thing that felt normal: arguing with Malfoy and trying to one up him.

"Debatable, you’re just all about power." Malfoy replied, barely sparing a glance at him as he ran his fingers through Teddy's hair, smoothing down the mess Harry’s hands had made of it. "You've been spending a lot of time at the Burrow, haven't you?" He asked, smiling at the bright orange colour he was sporting today. Teddy grinned and nodded.

"Yup, Ginny's been training me for quidditch tryouts." He replied.

"Ah, training with the professionals, I see. Soon you'll be leaving me in the dust." Malfoy was joking around with his godson and Harry started to think he might be hallucinating this one.

“You should stay and have tea since you’re not working.” Teddy tried again.

“I would love to, but I can’t.” Malfoy replied, and he looked like he truly regretted not being able to stay. “I was looking for Healer Dana, I hoped to find her here.” He finally, finally looked up at Harry, the question clear in the tilt of his head.

“She was here earlier, said everything looked fine and then went on to do her rounds.” He replied. Malfoy nodded in thanks.

“You slept ok?” He asked, walking up to the bed. It was Harry’s turn to nod, the night had been uneventful and his newly whole chest hadn’t given him any problems.

“Breathing alright?” Malfoy asked again.

“Weren’t you off duty?” Harry teased him, an amused smile tugging at his lips. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because the comfort and relaxation immediately left Malfoy’s stance, his expression closing off in the blink of an eye. It was like being hit with a bucket of ice water, he hit a switch and the warmth was entirely gone, like it had never been there in the first place.

“I am” He replied, stepping back away from the bed. “I’m sorry for interrupting, I’ll leave you to it.” He added, a little stilted, squeezing Teddy’s shoulder once before letting go of him and turning to Andromeda. He bent down to kiss her cheek “I’ll come by for tea another day if you’ll have me.” He murmured. Andromeda nodded, cupping his cheek in a way strikingly similar to what she did with Harry.

“You’re welcome whenever you want, schatz.” She told him with a warm smile before letting him go.

Teddy insisted on getting another hug and managed to extract a promise from Malfoy to come and have a look at his new potions equipment and test his new quidditch gear. Malfoy agreed easily, too easily, indulging Teddy’s request as if he wanted to look at cauldrons and scales during his time off. He even ran his fingers through Teddy’s hair, looking down at him with infinite fondness on his face and Harry didn’t know what to do with that as Malfoy left the room.

Harry’d been very vocally against Teddy visiting Malfoy Manor back when Andromeda had been reconnecting with Narcissa. The place was too filled with darkness and bad memories, it was no place for a child. Andromeda had given him a little time to sort his feelings out and then put her foot down and that had been it.

Malfoy and his mother had come up a few times but Harry never realized just how close him and Teddy had become through the years. Probably because by unspoken rule Andromeda and him avoided speaking about the Malfoys in his presence. He only had a vague concept of their relationship. Nothing had prepared him for Malfoy lighting up at the sight of Teddy, or his godson launching himself at the man filled with delight at his presence, or the way Malfoy caught him easily and held him like he was something precious and fragile. Like he…

“Everything alright, Harry?” Andromeda asked, arranging the tray next to the bed in reach of Harry’s good hand.

“Yeah, sorry, I got distracted.” He replied, realizing he’d been staring at the door after it closed behind Malfoy’s back. He thanked Andromeda when she handed him his tea and Teddy settled in on the edge of the bed.

“You want to help me open all these letters?” Harry asked him eyeing the stack of envelopes on the nightstand.

“Can I read what’s inside?” Teddy asked.

“Sure” Harry hoped to Merlin there wouldn’t be anything inappropriate.

Healer Dana came to check in on him after lunch, testing his mobility and asking him about pain level, tightness in the healed area and seemed satisfied with the results. Teddy watched over the process like a hawk, showering the woman with questions. She indulged him good naturedly and asked him if he wanted to become a healer when he finished Hogwarts. Teddy shook his head at that question

“I’m going to become an Auror like my mum and my godfather.” He announced, puffing out his chest. Dana chuckled.

“Those are some pretty big shoes to fill.” She commented “Did you know there are healers who work with Aurors too? They’re field medics, they’re like Aurors but much cooler.” She mentioned with a conspiratory smile. That seemed to pique Teddy’s attention.

“They are?” He asked, wide eyes trained on her.

“Much, much cooler.” Dana nodded, jotting down a few notes on Harry’s chart. Harry couldn’t find it in himself to argue that point.

“Is it true?” Teddy asked Harry.

“They’re pretty cool.” Harry confirmed “They were the ones who got me here in time so Malfoy could put me back together.” He pointed out, earning himself a satisfied nod from Healer Dana.

“You think I could be one? Then I could work with you.” Teddy considered.

“You can be whatever you want, Teds” Harry told him. “As long as you make all your NEWTs and train hard.” He added.

Teddy and Andromeda ended up staying well into the afternoon, opening cards and packages until they got bored, then Harry pulled out the chessboard and Teddy was dead set on beating Harry at least once before leaving. He’d improved a lot, probably thanks to his time spent at the Ron and Hermione’s, Ron had always been a much better player than him even back in school, there wasn’t much left he could teach Teddy about chess.

* * *

 

After clueing Dana in on the state of the proceeding Draco decided that he couldn't spend the day alone, waiting for Blaise and Daphne to come knocking on his door to drag him out. With it being the middle of the week and August his options for company were kind of limited, but there was someone who was always available.

He didn't bother changing before going to the manor, his mother would enjoy seeing him dressed up and they could discuss Pansy's work instead of his own.

Mother was delighted by his impromptu visit and although clearly suspicious about the circumstances of it she didn't pry. She was content to offer him tea and discuss young Lupin's education. They took a leisurely stroll through the gardens, arm in arm, where he learned Teddy had started very unsubtly asking for French lessons for no particular reason at all. Incidentally he'd started showing interest in Veela heritage. That had no connection whatsoever to his interest in the romance language of course. Draco smiled, squeezing his mother's arm as they walked through the rose garden. They were preparing to bloom for the second time that summer. He remembered when he was a kid Mother once told him she picked them because they bloomed at the beginning of the summer when he came home to her, and once again at the end when she’d watch him leave for Scotland, they didn’t need to bloom in between because her most beautiful flower was home.

"He's growing up so fast." She sighed as they walked under the pergola on the stone path, the plants casting mottled shadows on them. "You did too. I was holding you in my arms for the first time, then I blinked twice and you were a grown man." She shook her head, her shoulders dropping as sadness crept into her voice. "You were all grown fighting a war before I even realized."

"I was still a boy when I fought that war." Draco replied, letting her take a seat on the stone bench under the gazebo overlooking the garden.

"One more way I failed you. I should have protected you better." Draco shook his head taking her hands and kneeling in front of her

"You never failed me, Mother, never. You did everything you could to protect me, went to unimaginable distances to ensure my safety and happiness. I will never forget it and you shouldn't either." He held his mother's eyes, watching her face twist as she tried to fight tears back, even alone she’d still try to keep her front in place.

"And Edward. He is a ward of the Blacks, he'll grow strong and flourish and he won't know anything but peacetime." He squeezed her hands and smiled softly at her for a moment before conjuring a handkerchief for her. He gathered her in his arms, letting her have her moment, collect herself leaning against his chest.

August was never easy for either of them. It was riddled with dark memories and grief. He knew he shouldn't leave her alone during it but it was hard watching her grieve his father or Aunt Bella when he had his own grief to squeeze the air out of his lungs and close his throat with the enormity of it. She reached out to take his hand, her fingers warm and strong on his skin.

"It's been eleven years." She murmured. Draco could only nod, staring out at the green perfectly trimmed lawn "He would be starting Hogwarts." Draco squeezed her hand and just nodded again, unable to meet her eyes. It was only too easy to forget that his own grief was also hers, such was the nature of a parent, the pain of their children was returned tenfold onto them, and there is no pain unfathomable quite like the loss of a child. There were no words to encompass it, no medicine to soothe it, not even time could cure it, barely dulled the sharp edges of it.

"I asked for a special furlough for you, so you can come visit them with me." He told her eventually. There weren't many chances for his mother to leave the manor and he wished he could accompany her back into the world on a more joyous occasion, but those were their circumstances.

"Why are you here, mon coeur?" She asked softly as the silence stretched between them. "You don't come visit your mother in the middle of the day halfway through the week, you're supposed to be working." She pointed out, regaining her composure and sharp eye.

"I've been suspended until the end of the investigation into my misconduct." He replied. "It's fine, Blaise has everything in hand and I get to spend some time with my mother." he pre-empted her comment.

"And how long will I be enjoying your company?" She asked, unable to hide the happiness at the prospect of having more of Draco's company, no matter the circumstances.

"Three days before the decision." He replied with a small tentative smile. He couldn’t be too mad at the situation if it put a smile on his mother’s face.

He ended up staying for a light dinner and only left when it started getting late for his appointment with the others. He imagined Pansy would not appreciate his tardiness. He found her already waiting in his living room, chatting with Soup. He instantly felt the stab of guilt for not warning he wasn't coming back for dinner.

Pansy smiled at him when he walked out of the fireplace. “you thinking about coming out like that?” She asked, sizing him up as if she hadn’t dressed him herself in the morning. “It suits you but you’re not taking the robes out to a club before I debut them on a runway.”

“You let me take them to a hospital.” He pointed out, an eyebrow raised.

“For administrative purposes.” She retorted “It’s not like I sent you to do surgery in them.”

“You’d be surprised at how dirty administrative work can get.” He replied with a small smile.

“How did it go?” She asked, standing to get the robes off of him and back into the garment bag.

“About as well as we could expect. I’m suspended from duty pending investigation, but Blaise got them to expedite the proceedings so it’s not going to be long at all. Basically a long weekend.” He told her, taking off his family rings and handing them off to Soup.

“In the middle of the week.” The elf commented, the displeasure in his voice unmistakeable.

“You can keep the vest and the shirt, but you need different trousers.” Pansy decided, heading straight to his bedroom to find suitable clothes for him.

“Get the dragonhide ones.” He called after her. She emerged victorious a few minutes after Soup went in to assist her, holding a pair of skin tight dragonhide trousers she and Blaise had gotten him on some kind of occasion he couldn’t quite remember.

“These are perfect.” She nodded, handing them over. “Quickly, Draco. Blaise and Daphne were out for dinner they’ll already be waiting for us there.” Draco smiled at her.

“Sadistique isn’t leaving if we don’t show up right at opening time, especially on Tuesday night.” He reminded her as he took off the cufflinks and unbuttoning his shirt a bit. “I think I’m keeping the hair for tonight.” He decided, quickly switching trousers. “Are you coming like that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Pansy’s work attire.

Pansy gave him that look like he was missing the obvious, that small tilt of her head and twitch of her lips that spoke volumes. She shrugged off the light summer robes and revealed the corset underneath. It was paired with a skirt with a dizzyingly high slit showing off her legs and thigh high boots with way too many laces to be practical.

“Who do you take me for?” She asked with a small smile, offering him her arm.

“I’m sorry for doubting you.” He replied, easily accepting it.

Daphne and Blaise were already there, waiting for them right outside the club. Seeing the collar around Blaise’s neck and Daphne’s flowy goddess outfit made something settle deep inside his stomach.

They brought him to Sadistique for the first time when all of his choices had been stripped from him. Draco quickly learned that, whatever happened outside, once he crossed those doors he would find people willing to put the power back into his hands with an open trust he wouldn’t find anywhere else, that he could dole out pain and pleasure and care without having his motives questioned, that he could slip on a mask and be his most honest self for a while.

As soon as he stepped inside, arm in arm with Daphne and he found himself immersed in the smell of leather and latex in the low light, he could finally breathe freely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (During his visit to Narcissa Draco reflects on the death of his child, the circumstances aren't explained. He considers the nature of a parent's grief, the fact that it would be the year they started hogwarts if they were alive, and how time can't really heal that loss.)
> 
> Lord only knows when the next chapter will come out. Somewhere in the second half of June from how things look right now. Your comments keep me motivated and boost my energy so keep them coming, they are lovely.
> 
> If you want to scream at me about this fic or any other you can find me on tumblr [here](https://tedahfromtayla.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised here's the new chapter. We're moving along people!
> 
> There's a lot more Draco, a little more Teddy, almost nothing of what you actually want. But there is a little bit of plot so I consider this another win.
> 
> Thank you to Jay for the beta work on this chapter and for being the voice of reason that made me stop fussing and just post this already.

Draco was grateful for the lingering ache in his shoulders when he woke up in the morning. The memories of the previous night were vivid and comforting as he faced the first day of suspension.  The ghost of a flogger still weighed his hand as he headed to the kitchen to have breakfast. He checked in on the witch he’d played with and the rope marks still visible on her skin made something purr in his chest, almost as much as the easy smile she greeted him with. She’d been beautiful, sinking so easily into his ropework and soaring so high as he awarded pain that tasted like pleasure on her body.

“I’ll be fine,” she reassured him; and by her comfortable open smile, he was inclined to believe her. “You were a perfect gentleman last night,” she added. Draco couldn’t help but chuckle at that

“We might have a different concept of a gentleman,” he commented.

“Did you not respect every arbitrary rule I set for you?” She asked with an amused expression. “Did you overstep any boundaries at any point with me?” She insisted. “Did you not just go out of your way to ensure my comfort and well-being? I’d say that’s the definition of a gentleman.”

Draco smiled, knowing when an argument was lost. “I suppose you have a point,” he conceded.

“Are  _ you _ ok?” She asked, the concern in her voice badly concealed.

“Not entirely,” Draco admitted with a sigh. It was entirely too easy to be open with her after watching her come apart under his hands. Neither of them knew the other’s identity, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain. “But it’s not about what we did last night,” he assured.

“Whatever you say. But if you feel the need to talk or anything else… you know how to reach me,” she told him before cutting off the fire call.

Draco ended up giving Soup the day off and the elf decided to go to the Manor, of all things, leaving Draco alone in an empty house. He sent a letter out to the department of correction to ask about his mother’s furlough and then succumbed to temptation and started looking up job openings in France. He knew he would never go through with it no matter how enticing the prospect. It was a very unhealthy form of self-flagellation, but no one was there to stop him. Laennec was still looking for healers and potioneers to fill the new poison ward. He could just… He could quit everything and go. Just as soon as this whole Potter mess was sorted…

He made himself some tea and entertained the idea for a moment. He was qualified just enough. He’d had to give up his penchant for potions when he got placed in spell trauma, but he’d kept up with research during his free time and he could make up for the lack of practice fairly easily. He could have a real career there. And Laennec wasn’t even too far from England after all. There were international Floo connections between London and Northern France. It was closer than Scotland.

Somehow, he whiled the day away listening to Mozart and reading the latest case studies on accidental bonds until he was distracted by an owl tapping on his window. It was a Ministerial one. He rummaged around until he found a treat to feed the beast as he took the letter. It flew away immediately after gobbling up the treat, leaving Draco to read that his request hadn’t been examined yet and that he would receive a response as soon as the form had been examined. Well so much for efficiency…

Day two didn’t start much different than day one, except that he knew he couldn’t just stay holed up at home, so he decided to take Andromeda up on her offer for tea.

Teddy, of course, was elated to see him twice in the same week and proceeded to drag him straight up to his room to show him his new potions kit and the accompanying book.

“I see you’ve been reading it already,” Draco commented, noticing the less than pristine condition of the book.

“He has, and you should take him to your place in case he decides to experiment. Because you have the expertise and because I don’t want it to be my house the one that gets blown up.” Andromeda called as she passed the room.

“I’m not very good at potions.” Teddy sighed. “But I would be much better if grandma let me practice during summer,” He added, a little too loud for it to be meant for Draco’s ears only.

Draco smiled, tracing the familiar instruments with a finger, warm fondness filling him at the hopeful look on Teddy’s face.

“You can go to my place and practice if Soup’s willing to supervise,” He told him. The lab didn’t get much use anyway. He set it up when he still hoped for a spot in the potion damage ward.

“Thank you so much, Draco!” Teddy cheered, launching himself at him in an enthusiastic hug. Draco rested a hand between the boy’s shoulder blades, holding him close. His slight frame solid against him eased the pressure that constantly resided in his chest like nothing else could.

“No explosions though,” he warned. “Not on purpose anyway. And don’t think Soup won’t be able to tell the difference,” he added.

“I promise. Thank you so, so much, you’re the best!” Teddy grinned up at him.

“You’re welcome, Edward,” Draco replied softly. “Now go get your broom, I want to see all the new tricks the young miss Weasley taught you,” He told him, sending him off and heading down to join Andromeda for tea in the garden.

Andromeda had set up a small table under the shade of the magnolia tree and was already sitting there, enjoying the light breeze. Teddy wasted no time in fetching his broom and balls or setting up the rings. While he made a few warmup loops Draco served himself tea, keeping a watchful eye out for him.

“Good form!” He called out when Teddy dropped into a dive, pulling up just shy of the ground.

“Free the snitch!” Teddy called out, “So I can show you for real”. He grinned, weaving through the rings, smiling down at them. Draco got up and let the snitch out of its box. Teddy gave chase immediately, with a confidence, with a speed he hadn’t had the last time Draco’d seen him fly. Training with a professional player obviously had paid off.

He sat down next to Andromeda, the cup of tea almost forgotten in his hands as he watched Teddy soar and chase the snitch, barely a glint in the bright sun.

“What’s wrong, schatz?” She asked eventually. Draco looked down at the amber pool reflecting the mottled light filtered by the wide magnolia leaves, wondering how to answer the question. What was wrong? A better question would be what wasn’t.

“I’m so very tired, Aunt Andromeda.” He sighed, finally looking up at her. “The last week hasn’t been the easiest,” he admitted.

“Because of Harry,” she supplied.

“Only in part. He was just the last drop in the cauldron.” He shook his head.

“You’re worried about him,” she commented.

“He’s my patient,” Draco replied, curling his hands around the cup.

“It’s not just that.” she shook her head and took a sip of tea.

“My career might hang in the balance of his recovery.” Andromeda hummed vaguely. “And he attracts a lot of attention I don’t need right now,” Draco added.

“You used to thrive on attention,” she pointed out.

“I used to be a different man.”

“Not that different.” 

Draco frowned at that. 

“I mean it in the best possible way, you moulded yourself into what you are today, but self-flagellation doesn’t suit you, you were meant to be in the spotlight ever since you were a baby.”

She smiled softly at the stories Cissy shared about Draco’s early childhood, spent charming the coldest of relatives. Apparently, he got even Walburga to coo at him in a most undignified way, and on one memorable occasion, he got Abraxas Malfoy to sit on the ground with him and draw. The scandal. She was sorry to have missed most of her sister’s life. In a better world, Tonks would have dragged Draco in all sorts of mischief, she would have toddled in the gardens of Malfoy Manor… But that wasn’t the world they lived in, and while they couldn’t change the past they could certainly stitch together a better future. One where a different child of hers went looking for adventure in Malfoy Manor.

“The spotlight isn’t as forgiving with me as it used to be, or with my mother for that matter.” Draco took a sip of tea just as Teddy caught the snitch again and released it, watching it fly away for a moment before pulling the broom up. He showed off a few daring moves, a tight spin and a loop de loop before getting back to the task at hand.

“Don’t loosen your stance!” He called after him.

“Trouble with the ministry?” Andromeda asked.

“I’m not sure yet, maybe I’m worrying over nothing. They’re just being slow with the furlough request.” He shook his head. He didn’t want to start worrying before it was time, he had too many thoughts already.

“Tuck in your elbows!” He called out to Teddy.

“It’ll be fine,” she reassured him, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “Do you want us to come with you?” She offered. Draco shook his head.

“No, I… I don’t want a lot of people there. It’ll just be me, Daphne, Blaise and Mother.” Andromeda nodded

“You can always come by after. Teddy will be happy to see you one last time before leaving for Hogwarts,” she offered.

“Are you sure? I’m not going to be excellent company.” Draco looked back at her. He didn’t want to intrude in Hogwarts preparation, especially if there were going to be Weasley spawns around. He didn’t kid himself thinking he would be readily welcomed by the redhead clan. Andromeda squeezed his arm gently and nodded.

“You’re my family, Schatz, I’m sure.” Her smile held just as much fondness as his mother’s, the same lines at the corners of her eyes and the same steely certainty in her tone.

When it started getting too hot outside they moved back inside, and Draco was more than happy to while the afternoon away painting with Teddy. The boy was certainly more artistically inclined than Draco’d been at his age. Not that Draco had lacked passion and dedication to his craft back in the day but Teddy had a finesse that Draco certainly did not have during his Hogwarts years.

He left with another drawing to hang in the kitchen. This one was Andromeda sitting in her favourite armchair. Teddy had captured the glint of silver in her hair beautifully, he knew Soup was going to love the addition to the series of portraits already adorning the cabinets, and it would be enough to butter him up and get him to agree to supervise Teddy’s potion experiments.

* * *

 

The few days after Andromeda’s visit went by with a noticeable lack of Malfoy around. Healer Dana was great, by the second day she declared him fit to leave the bed on his own and outfitted him with a sling for his arm so that it wouldn't just flop around uselessly. It wasn't the most comfortable thing, but he wasn't in any pain and she said that by the end of the week they would start reconstruction.

Hanson came back with his morning prophet, it was a welcome habit. His injury was becoming old news, in favour of reporting about new illegal potions hitting the black market, which, apparently, she enjoyed. The good relevant reporting, not the illegal potion market.

Ron had little news about the case, only that they recovered practically nothing from his disastrous sting. Together they put a good dent in the sweets he'd received along with get-well cards. It wasn't exactly compliant with his diet, but physical therapy hadn't started yet and he couldn't very well let them go to waste. People had gone out of their way to get those sweets to him it would be rude not to eat them. At least, that's how he rationalized it to Ron who was all too happy to go along with whatever as long as he got to eat the fancy chocolates.

On day three of no Malfoy Hanson came in bearing news of a clamorous arrest connected with the potion smuggling ring case that looked promising. Although he wasn't entirely happy about learning about it from the papers instead of Ron he had to admit it was good news. It meant that they were finally making progress on it. Potion smuggling had been a problem since before he became an Auror, but somehow there was always something more important to take care of and the organization grew in the shadows while the Aurors took care of tracking down the last fugitive death eaters, or dismantled the Movement for Magic Revelation, a group of nutty wizards and witches intent on breaking the statute of secrecy and introduce magic to muggles, called it Project Prometheus.

"You don't seem too happy about this one," Hanson commented.

"I'm sorry, no, I am happy. It's good that they made an arrest." Harry pulled himself out of his musing about old cases and how they could have gone about things differently to eradicate the ring before it grew too big.

"But…" Hanson prompted.

"I feel useless in here," he admitted. He wanted to be out there, tracking down illegal goods, busting up secret laboratories, not bored in bed cut off from the news.

"You'd be useless out there too in your condition," she deadpanned. "Think of it like this: your uniforms are imbued with protection charms up the wazoo, right? So you have an additional level of defence in the most desperate of situations."

Harry nodded, wondering where she was going with it.

"If your uniform got burned by a curse or a potion or a collapsing building, what would you do with it?” She asked.

“Throw it out and request a new one,” Harry replied easily. Hanson chuckled.

“Fair enough. Fully trained Aurors are a little harder to substitute than uniforms,” she pointed out. “You’ve been damaged, and since the department can’t just very well request a new Harry Potter to be delivered, you need to be fixed. If it were anyone else on your team in this condition would you bring them out in the field?”

Harry shook his head, she made a good point.

“And would you hold it against them that they needed time off work to recover?” She doubled down. Harry sighed.

“I suppose not.”

“Then you need to allow yourself the same courtesy,” She told him with a satisfied smile, having brought her point home. “You’re not wasting your time here, you’re investing it. It might not look like it but you’re working towards being able to get back out there. So much so that they’re still paying you your wage.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll try and stop being sorry for myself.” Harry sighed, raising a hand in surrender. He may not like the process, but he needed the results.

“Good, a proactive attitude is fundamental for a successful recovery. The hard part is still to come and we all want to see you succeed, Mr Potter,” She told him before leaving.

She left him the paper so Harry re-read the article. Apparently, they arrested a man who was distributing illegal brews and found regulated ingredients in his home. He supposed they would still be interrogating him right now, trying to get him to flip on his suppliers and climb the chain to the ringleaders.

The fact that Ron didn’t come to visit was a good sign, it meant he was busy at work, which meant there was progress being made in dismantling the sprawling organization poisoning the streets. And yet, his blood was boiling with anger.

Somehow everything was wrong and a personal offence to him, starting from the reflection of light coming in from the window directly into his eyes, to the sound of steps up and down the corridor outside his door to the blasted pastoral scene hung on the wall in front of his bed. It was all designed to drive him mad. He worked himself up more and more as time ticked by without a goddamn clock to keep track of it. He was already frothing at the mouth and the scrape of the door on the floor as it opened was what made him snap.

“What now?!” He snarled just as the glass on his bedside table shattered into pieces.

Healer Dana stopped for a second at the door, assessing the situation without speaking a word, and if it were possible that made Harry even angrier, why wouldn’t she say something? Was this a joke to her? Then she walked in as if it was just another day at the office, because who cared if Harry had a job to do out there? Oh, and there was a stranger visiting as well.

“Something wrong, Mr Potter?” Dana asked, vanishing the remains of his glass and the water that spilt on the floor.

“Of course not, I’m here because I love vacationing in blandly coloured and sparsely furnished rooms,” he replied, “where people don’t bother knocking before coming in and I get poked and prodded at all hours of the day. What could be wrong? And it’s Auror Potter to you.” And she wasn’t even paying attention. The redhead woman with her seemed much more interested at least.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Auror Potter, I’m Healer Moreschi, I’m a mind healer,” She introduced herself.

“I don’t need a shrink,” He retorted. He was done with people thinking he wasn’t right in the head.

“As surprising as it may sound I didn’t come here for you. But I believe I know what’s going on here.”

“Of course, because you know everything, don’t you?” He sneered.

“You’re experiencing transference, Auror Potter. This anger isn’t yours, it’s leaking in from your bond. I need you to focus your mind and isolate it.” Harry was about to call bullshit on that, but something gave him pause. It had happened before. This was just like Voldemort all over. And he was still unequipped to handle it.

“How do I do it?” He asked.

“It’s just like Occlumency but what you’re trying to shut out is inside you instead of out.” Healer Moreschi instructed as if that made the task any clearer. He’d never been any good at normal Occlumency, let alone a reverse technique. One way or another though, the anger receded, maybe it was just him knowing it was someone else’s and being able to compartmentalize it. He wasn’t going to question the results.

“Sorry about that,” he eventually apologized.

“Belligerent patients aren’t that unusual, Mr Potter,” Healer Dana reassured him. “Plus this tells us that your pseudo-bond is stronger than we initially thought, and there’s someone else on the other end.”

“And that’s good news?” Didn’t sound like it but Harry was nothing if not hopeful.

“It’s news. The more we know, the better we can strategize to resolve the situation.” Healer Dana replied, jotting down notes on his chart. It wasn’t exactly comforting, but it was a somewhat positive outlook and Harry was going to take what he could get.

“Speaking of we, what happened to Malfoy? Is he on vacation?” He asked.

“That’s what I’m here about.” Healer Moreschi interjected. “He’s not on vacation, he’s suspended pending an investigation,” she explained. “I’m part of the disciplinary committee and I’d like to have a chat with you.”

That was how Harry ended up involved in a trial concerning Draco Malfoy for the second time.

The stakes were significantly lower this time around, but even without the details Harry could tell it was still a delicate matter, he was fairly certain it wasn’t standard practice to have your attorney represent you in a disciplinary hearing. Union representative maybe; attorney at law? Not really, but Zabini was there and he showed no intention to leave before Healer Moreschi was done with him.

They declared themselves satisfied only when Nurse Hanson showed up with his lunch shooing them away.

“They got around to interviewing you too, uh?” She asked, arranging the food on the rolling tray.

“Yeah. What did Malfoy do, kill somebody?” Hanson shot him a withering glare

“Potter, I mean this with all the disrespect possible: you need to learn when to shut up. You didn’t crack that hilarious joke in front of Moreschi, did you?” She asked

“No?” Harry replied, taken aback to the level of barely suppressed anger in her voice. It was usually reserved for shoddy reporting, crumbling infrastructures or unqualified personnel.

“Good. Because as it stands, Malfoy is under investigation for saving your life and going about it the wrong way,” she informed him.

“What do you mean the wrong way?” Harry asked, pushing himself up a bit to sit comfortably and eat.

“The procedure he used on you isn’t approved by the British Order of Healers,” she explained.

“Ok. But it was what kept me alive.” Harry tried to reason.

“Do you really think the committee cares about that?” Hanson chuckled at his naiveté. “Malfoy the highest survival rate among the healers in spell trauma. For some unknown reason, he also has the highest number of summons in front of the disciplinary committee. I’m sure if you think hard enough you can figure out why.”

Harry didn’t like the implications of what Hanson had just told him but try as he might he didn’t see a way to fix it besides testifying in Malfoy’s favour. But, as he just learned, that would only affect things right now. Apparently testifying to obtain a favourable sentencing didn’t have the lasting effect Harry had assumed it would.

* * *

 

Draco had half a plan to laze around the house for the entirety of day three, but then he decided that for his own good he’d probably do better if he went out and bothered Pansy for a while. He still had to return the robes she lent him and if experience served she could use a pick me up at this stage of preparation for fashion week.

He picked up coffee and her favourite pastries on his way to her studio in east London, and was welcomed, as expected, with chaos. Pansy was reigning supreme in the middle of it, directing models to clothes, seamstresses to models and photographers to sets.

“Oh, Draco, thank Salazar, you have coffee.” She plucked the cup from the tray and took a sip.

“I also have something that you might need more.” He raised the garment bag a little to show exactly what he meant. He hadn’t dared shrink it, unsure how the material would react, lugging it around London hadn’t been fun, he didn’t know how muggles did it.

“Oh, wonderful, go hang it there, we’re in the middle of shooting.” She pointed at a corner where lights and cameras were set up already.

Draco ended up acting as substitute assistant for Pansy the whole day, getting a glimpse at the behind the scenes of one of Pansy’s busiest weeks and barely had time to think about what would happen the next day. That was until late that evening when Pansy shooed him out, recommending he wear his healer robes to the hearing, just a subtle reminder of his role and career.

And then it was Saturday morning.

And Draco was back outside the same conference room, wearing his mint green robes as if he was going back to work as soon as the hearing was over. The painful twist in his guts was a reminder that it very likely wasn’t going to be the case as he walked through the door, his head held high, Blaise right next to him.

There was a different kind of energy in the committee, for some reason Andrews didn’t look quite as self-satisfied as Draco expected him to be. Actually, no one on the committee looked particularly happy, and if Andrews’ bad mood tended to bode well for him, the general discontent wasn’t comforting.

“Very well, Mr Malfoy, the committee has examined the reports and interviewed the equipe working on Auror Potter’s case. Given the damage suffered by the patient and the callous disregard shown for safety procedures, patient consent and this profession’s deontology this committee has reached a unanimous decision.” Of course, it reached a unanimous decision. It was the only way the committee could reach any decision at all, but the pompous prick couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to highlight his own importance. But what stuck was the mention of damage. Had something happened to Potter while he was suspended? Why hadn’t Dana notified him?

“You will be stripped of your Healer title until you complete the ethics and medical deontology course again, to make sure the notions stick this time.” Andrews didn’t waste any time delivering the sentence and Draco felt like laughing. He was a trainee again. As if it hadn’t been humiliating enough the first time around, now he would be deprived of his title and authority and placed at the same level of people he’d been training just four days earlier. This was ridiculous, he knew the ethics code forward, backwards and inside out, he’d gotten several amendments approved through the years. They all knew it.

“I’m the Healer instructor in spell trauma,” he pointed out. “Should I report to myself?” He couldn’t help himself, it wasn’t like he could get in any more trouble and his anger had to go somewhere lest he burn from the inside out.

“Healer Dana will step up to cover the role until you’re reinstated,” Healer Moreschi replied.

Thank Morgana for small mercies.

He barely waited to be dismissed before going to get a brand-new chartreuse uniform and getting back to work. Six months and he’d be a healer again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now the update on my life you did not ask for: I am starting my thesis. As you can imagine that is going to considerably limit my free time so for the foreseeable future I'm NOT going back to posting weekly. That said I'm not abandoning this fic.
> 
> Comments make me happy and a happy author is an active author.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be angst, go forth at your own risk.
> 
> With this chapter we should be past the worst of the pain (as far as I've planned which isn't far at all). On that note I feel like it's fair to put a TW for panic attacks. It's not really graphic or intense but I feel like it's better to be safe than sorry. Also there's children being harmed and women dying. If you need details check the end notes.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience, with me while I deal with this pesky thing called real life. Here's an extra long extra painful chapter for you. Chapter ten will not be up before July 20th (and even that is optimistic) so make sure to savour this one.
> 
> Thank you to [Ana-Iliad](https://ana-iliad.tumblr.com/) for the beta work.

The thought of Malfoy's hearing carried Harry into a night of confusing dreams about shopping and restocking cabinets that brought him into Saturday morning with still no news of Ron or Seamus or anyone who could update him on the case. His musings about the proceedings were soon enough forgotten when Healer Dana walked in his room, followed by Malfoy. 

Who was wearing chartreuse robes. 

Like a trainee.

“Good morning, Potter,” he greeted him. “I see you’ve been adjusting well after we operated on your chest,” he commented reading his chart.

“Hey, Malfoy, Healer Dana,” Harry replied with a smile. “Yeah. What happened to you?” He asked, wondering what could possibly have damaged Malfoy’s robes enough for him to change into chartreuse ones this early in the day. There had to be a fun story of misfortune there.

“I’ve been demoted” Malfoy replied, deadpan as always.

“Real funny, come on,” Harry chuckled.

“I’ve shown callous disregard for safety, consent and deontology,” He replied with a raised eyebrow.

“When?” Harry frowned.

“Ever since I started treating you as far as the disciplinary committee is concerned.” Malfoy put down his chart and watched Healer Dana run the diagnostics.

“But you saved my life,” Harry reasoned. This didn’t turn out nearly as funny as he thought it would. 

“Not well enough apparently, so I’m back to being a trainee.” The smile Malfoy gave him had nothing genuine in it; it was too sharp and there was venom in every airily spoken word, spelling danger. But Harry never was good at knowing when to stop.

“But I testified in your favour.”

“Some things not even the Mighty Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World can change. Apparently, you can deviate the course of justice around me only once.” Malfoy replied, it sounded almost like an accusation, but Harry wasn’t sure it was directed at him. There was something boiling inside Malfoy that Harry couldn’t quite read, nothing in his body betrayed him except the swirling emotion in his eyes and the tension in his lips.

“But it was a minor infraction. Why punish you like this?” That made Malfoy avert his eyes and look at the results of the diagnostics.

“Because I’m a war criminal, Potter, nothing you do can change that,” Malfoy said bitterly. 

“Sometimes my actions have consequences because of that. This is the consequence of saving your life by any means necessary.” Malfoy gestured at the uniform, still refusing to meet his eyes.

“But...”

“It’s not fair? You’ll have to live with it. Quite literally,” Malfoy pre-empted his objection, his eyes snapping back up. “Because in case you’re inclined to believe this an accident, allow me to dispel that notion. It was a calculated risk I took, and I am very good at math: my career for your life. And would you look at that? My career isn’t even entirely destroyed.”

“It’s undignified!” Harry argued, irritated by how Malfoy wouldn’t let him be angry on his behalf. The fleeting show of surprise passing on Malfoy’s face wasn’t lost on him. 

“You have no idea the indignity I’m willing to suffer to keep doing my job and pay my dues,” Malfoy replied darkly, with a tone that decreed the end of that particular conversation, no matter how many feelings Harry may have about the topic. 

Healer Dana smoothly cut through the tension by picking up the chart and stepping up to the bed.

“Alright, let’s take a look at your arm, Mr Potter.” She smiled. She slowly talked Harry through the plan they had for his reconstruction and somehow Harry’s frustration abated a little; Malfoy’s hands on him, slowly unwrapping the bandages may have helped with that. They were cool and dry and steady, not at all vibrating with the rage and outrage he ought to be feeling about the slight he’d been subjected to.

When Harry tried to take a peek at his arm a finger on his jaw stopped him from turning his head.

“You really don’t want to see this.” Malfoy told him softly. “Suffice to say it’s bad and it looks worse than it is.”

“I’ve seen a lot of ugly stuff,” Harry replied

“And you really want to see some more?” Draco asked, taking his hand off his face.

Harry sneaked a peek and then turned back around. “Maybe not.” He decided after seeing the burned edges of flesh just under the bandages. Malfoy made a very pointed hum as he went back to work on slowly taking off all the bandages.

“The process is quite complex, we’ll start you on a regimen of potions derived from  _ Skele-gro _ to stimulate the growth of new tissue,” Healer Dana explained after examining the damage.

“To ensure a proper reconstruction we’ll have to intervene regularly with corrective spells. We’ll create a mirror image of your right arm, sort of a template for the potion to act within.” She told him, putting the chart down.

“Unfortunately, this puts a bit of a strain on the healthy limb, you might experience some loss of muscle tone and some people report pain during the procedure,” she continued. She kept her voice calm and steady, allowing Harry space to process the new information and ask any question he needed.

“But it will give me my arm back, right?” He asked, looking between her and Malfoy, seeking reassurance.

“The chances are very high, yes,” Malfoy replied, looking at the mangled arm critically.

“That’s not a definite yes” Harry noticed.

“It’s as certain a reply as you’re going to get in this field, Potter,” Malfoy told him with a small shrug. “Look, limb regrowth is not easy and there is a lot of regrowing to do here. From shoulder to elbow it looks reasonably good. We might even get it done in one single session.” He started, straight to business and weirdly comforting in his straightforwardness. There was no flowery language and no attempt to sugar-coat the reality of his situation. Harry nodded, showing he was following.

“Your forearm is a lot worse; it’s going to take a while more, probably two or three rounds if we want to try and restore all the nerve endings and ligaments properly. We’ll have to space them out a bit to let your body adjust and avoid intoxicating you with potions but it’s feasible,” he continued, but then he paused.

“I hear a ‘but’ coming,” Harry needed to know. What was he keeping from him?

“Your hand is in terrible shape. It wasn’t protected by the uniform and it took the worst of the damage. It’s going to take weeks and I’m not sure we can entirely restore mobility to it. Fine motor skills especially might not entirely come back, even with physical therapy.” Malfoy explained with a pinched look on his face. Harry looked at him and breathed slowly, struggling to process what Malfoy just told him. 

He might not get his left hand back. 

It was fine.

It wasn’t his casting arm after all. 

He could keep working even without it. 

He could cast, write, he could do everything he did before even without finer motor skills in his left hand.

Except fly, he needed both hands to fly. 

Or cook, he used both hands to cook, 

And to braid Rose’s hair…

Malfoy didn’t shy away from his eyes, holding steady under his stare until Harry blinked and nodded.

“I understand,” he murmured, “I’m sure you’ll do whatever you can,” he added. 

Just as the words left his mouth, he realized it wasn’t just saying, Malfoy had already done, literally, all that he could to heal him and for a moment he felt that knowledge weigh down his chest with something foreign and achingly familiar. Again, someone was laying down their life for him and he hated everything about it, because now there wasn’t the excuse of a higher priority, a war to win, a big evil to vanquish. There was just the irrefutable evidence of Malfoy of all people making the decision to save him at a great personal cost.

Healer Dana decided to take care of the more superficial burns on his side immediately and promised to come back soon with a prospective schedule for the reconstruction and some informative material on how recovery would look like.

Soon turned out to be almost dinner time, when Hermione was getting ready to leave after coming to visit him. A tall black woman in a nurse uniform came in with a wide motherly smile and some papers for him. Harry took everything with a hurried thanks and spread them on the bed to take everything in at once. The first thing he went for was the schedule. Between reconstructive spells, resting periods, potion rounds spacing he would be in the hospital well into fall. Hermione had picked up one of the pamphlets titled **_So you have nerve damage!_ ** it was ridiculously colourful with tiny moving drawings on it, but it didn’t seem to lift her spirits in any detectable way.

“You mind if I take this?” She asked, folding it back up. Harry shrugged.

“Sure, it’s not like I’m lacking reading material here,” he replied, gesturing to his lapful of paper.

“I’ll bring it back tomorrow, don’t stay up all night reading,” she recommended, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

“When have I ever?” He smiled up at her and she shook her head with a fond smile before heading out.

* * *

 

Of course, things couldn’t be as easy as sitting down and working out a schedule for Potter’s treatment. As soon as they walked out of the room, Draco and Dana got swept up in an emergency involving contaminated grounds and kids thinking it would be cool to go explore old war sites on their own.

Once that was settled, he had to do the rounds with the rest of the trainees and that was as delightful as he expected it to be. He clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth would pop off, at least he didn’t bite his tongue clear in half with the effort it took not to acknowledge Bingley’s passive aggressive comments about people falling from grace. He barely listened to Dana illustrate each case while he very nonchalantly worked on Potter’s schedule behind the cover of his clipboard. Evidently, he hadn’t been smooth enough because she pulled him aside at the end of the rounds after dismissing the others.

“You know that I can’t give you special treatment, as ridiculous as the notion might be, right?” She told him softly. “I need you to be on top of this. You’ve done it before, you can do it again.”

Draco sighed, “I know, but I’m wasting my time here, I have Potter waiting for his schedule, children to lecture about not being idiots with dark magic and now I have to play trainee so the administration can feel big.” He knew it was in no way, shape or form her fault but she was the one he could vent to. “The department was already short-staffed before and now I’m hobbled.”

She reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder “I got your back, Malfoy, we’ll figure this out, just like we did the first time around. Now go, scare some children straight, I’ll get this to Potter.” She gave him an encouraging smile, pilfering the paper from his clipboard.

They’d left the kids in a room sleeping before going to make their rounds. They would stay overnight under observation to make sure the curses they triggered on their exploration trip didn’t have secondary effects. Even short exposure to the kind of dark magic that lingered around some war sites could have significant effects on a person’s health, and they were children, so better safe than sorry.

They were still sleeping off the aftermath of their accident when he walked into their room and his chest tightened at the sight of their young faces ashen against the white linens. Two of them were fresh out of Hogwarts, the other two were respectively a fifth and a seventh year, their faces still round and innocent. Had he ever looked that young? As soon as he was done with them, they’d be handed over to the care of the night shift nurses to be released to their parents in the morning if everything went well during the night.

The first to wake up was Daisy Gibbs, fifteen. She blinked and looked around, a little loopy and confused. “What happened?” She asked once she spotted him.

“You and your friends did a very reckless thing, Daisy,” Draco replied softly, “you’re in St Mungo’s now,” he added. Her face twisted with worry and her eyes immediately started to water.

“I told them not to go! I told them! But Spencer wouldn’t listen!” She sobbed, big fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “Is my brother ok?” she asked between hiccups. Draco nodded, offering her a tissue.

“He is, they all are,” he reassured her, “but you got lucky, dark magic lingers where it’s been performed, you could have gotten hurt very badly.”

She blew her nose and cried her eyes out before her companions slowly woke up, getting their bearings. Draco didn’t have to do much scolding once Daisy got a drink of water. She went right off.

“Spencer, you asshole! I told you it was dangerous!” She yelled at the boy in the bed in front of her. 

“You could have gotten us all killed because you wanted to show off in front of Veronica.” The girl in question still blinking owlishly in the next bed over. Daisy was building up a good rant though, and Draco didn’t want to step on her moment. It would probably be more effective this way anyway.

“You’re lucky we’re just in the hospital, I would have haunted your ass for eternity if something had happened to Petey.” She was turning red in the face. Peter Gibbs was turning green instead and Draco hurried to get him a bucket to hurl in, lest he ruin his little sister’s momentum with an ill-timed retch.

“Hey, nobody forced him to come along.” Spencer tried to defend himself. Daisy wasn’t having any of it and Draco let her rip into him for a bit while he checked Veronica’s response to stimuli. Eventually he cleared his throat to get their attention and gave them a spiel about how dangerous wild magic is, how Dark magic lingers more than one can imagine and messing with it is not cool or fun or exciting in any way, and next time they might not get so lucky as to get brought to the hospital during his shift.

“Yeah, we were lucky we got an expert in this kind of stuff.” Spencer didn’t even try to be subtle about it, but he was a literal child. Draco knew better than to rise to the bait of a teenager with an inflated sense of self.

“You were, and from the height of my expertise let me tell you, it could have easily been fatal for any and each of you. No more dabbling into stupid reckless endeavours, I don’t want to see your faces around here again, understood? Leave the curse breaking to the professionals.” He fixed each of them with a stern look, holding their eyes until they crumbled.

“Good, I see we have an agreement. Your parents will be along shortly.” He told them, vanishing Petey’s vomit from the bucket. Then he walked out to face said parents, reassure them that their spawns were alive and mostly out of danger so that their worry could sublimate into rage before they walked in. Just to be safe he signalled nurse Waite to keep an ear out in case things got too out of hand in that room, it wouldn’t do to save the kids only for them to be murdered by the parents.

The rest of the day went into researching deep tissue reconstruction to see if there were new techniques being developed anywhere that would help with Potter’s treatment. He emerged from the break room an hour past the end of his shift with a folder full of notes to go over before the next day. There was a man in Venezuela who might be onto something.

He could already see Soup’s disapproving little frown at him bringing work home once again, but this was important. The squeak of the elf’s voice reminding him that everything was important was startlingly clear in his mind. Great, he had him in his head. What did he need him for if he argued perfectly well on his own?

He almost ran straight into Granger, too distracted by the thought of having to defend his questionable life choices to his house elf to pay attention to where he was going.

“Oh, hey Malfoy,” she greeted him.

“Hello, Granger, here to visit Potter?” He asked, shifting the folder in his arms so it wouldn’t spill on the floor.

“Just leaving actually, and you know it’s Weasley now, right? Has been for a while,” she replied with a small smile.

“If you don’t mind terribly, I’ll stick to Granger. It’s more of an honorific and less of a name by now anyway,” he replied making her chuckle and shake her head.

 “Whatever you prefer. Are you working?” She asked, eyeing the armful of notes he was carrying “I was wondering if I could trouble you with a few questions,” she added, her hands restless on the pamphlet she was holding.

“I just finished my shift. Do you want to get some coffee?” He offered. “We can get comfortable and I’ll try and answer any questions you might have.”

Granger nodded, a touch of relief on her face, and gestured for him to lead the way with a soft “Please.”

They took a booth in a coffee shop where Draco ordered himself an acceptably caffeinated drink and a small sandwich to make up for the skipped lunch.

“So...” Granger started, placing the pamphlet on the table between them. Her eyes flitted between the cartoon figures on it and Draco’s face, unsure how to formulate her question. Draco gave her space to get her thoughts in order and a boy brought over their orders while she ruminated over it.

“Is Harry going to lose the arm?” She asked eventually. Blunt and straight to the point.

“It’s too early to say,” Draco replied. “We haven’t even started the first round of potions,” he pointed out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “As far as my preliminary evaluation goes, I don’t think the arm is going to give us too much trouble. With some rigorous physical therapy, he’ll be good as new. The hand is another question entirely.” He sighed, tapping the pamphlet.

“Nerve damage isn’t easy to fix, the body doesn’t do much of anything on its own and there’s only so much magic can do,” he explained.

“That’s what you’re researching.” It wasn’t a question; her eyes went to the folder of notes and articles. Draco nodded.

“It is, but I have nothing conclusive so far. There was some good experimentation done after the war, but it was focused on alleviating the effects of extensive exposure to  _ Crucio _ and similars. They did a good job on me in France, but the process is still far from perfect, even if we could apply the technique to Potter, which we can’t as far as I can tell.” He took a sip of his coffee, leaning back against the chair.

Granger kept him in the coffee shop until well after the sun had set around them, asking questions he only had half answers for and unconvincing reassurances about Potter’s unusually quick recovery from trauma. They eventually parted ways after she bid him a goodbye that was in equal parts gratitude for his time and an apology for keeping him so long after his shift. He waved both away, telling her it was perfectly ok. The worst part was that it had been the best part of his day: being treated like an actual healer, someone to seek out for answers and comfort even when there was none to offer.

* * *

Sunday morning couldn’t come fast enough. Andromeda was going to drop off Teddy for a day of potion making. Draco knew Teddy wasn’t going to be keen on getting a late start to the day so there would be no leisurely lounging around in bed, no savouring the quiet laziness of a free morning, no luxuriating in the light slowly streaming in from the window, and despite his own penchant for hedonism he couldn’t be happier about waking up early and showering efficiently before he joined Soup for breakfast.

“I took the liberty to restock the cabinet with the ingredients requested by young master Lupin.” Soup greeted him, a mug of tea already at his place on the table. Draco eyed it suspiciously, Soup was getting less and less subtle with his attempts to wean him of caffeine, but he supposed he could go with it for today.

“He requested specific ingredients?” Draco asked. “So, you know what we’re brewing today?” Teddy hadn’t been terribly specific when they spoke, just said it was something he wanted to perfect before going back to school.

Soup hummed and turned his back “I wouldn’t presume to divulge private information, given to me in confidence.” He replied. Draco narrowed his eyes; something didn’t smell right.

“Come on, Soup, it’s not the statute of secrecy, I’m going to find out in a few hours anyway,” he tried to wheedle the truth out of him.

Soup’s mouth was sealed though, and Draco suspected it had something to do with the very flattering sketch of him brandishing a kitchen knife that now occupied the place of honour on their fridge. They were teaming up against him and there was nothing he could do about it. He was outnumbered.

As he had imagined, Draco barely had time to finish his breakfast before Teddy was tumbling out of the fireplace, clutching the strap of his bag, with a wide grin on his face yelling “I’m here!”

Draco smiled fondly at him. “I noticed” he replied, brushing ash away from Teddy’s hair, which he was sporting long and a striking shade of blue for the day “Go set your things down in the lab, I’ll be there in a moment, don’t start without me,” he called after the boy, already hurrying off towards the lab.

“I won’t,” Teddy promised, heading to the lab to set things down and get ready for whatever project he’d brought with him.

“I’ll come save you at lunchtime if you haven’t blown up already,” Soup told him with a small smile.

“Your confidence is incredibly heartening, Soup, as is your concern for my safety and continued well-being,” Draco replied, heading to the study to pick up some articles to read while Teddy worked.

He found Teddy already rifling through the cabinet for ingredients, a roll of parchment pinned down on the table with a scale and a knife at opposite corners. 

“Sorry,” he apologized when he saw Draco in the room “I’m just taking out ingredients, I didn’t even light the fire yet.”

Draco chuckled “Someone’s excited,” he commented, walking up to the table, leaning over to read the recipe 

“What are we brewing?” He asked, glancing up at him after skimming the parchment, it wasn’t familiar but nothing seemed too volatile or particularly poisonous, there were some mild irritants but that was about it.

“It’s uhm… It’s an artisanal brew,” Teddy replied, suspiciously devoid of detail and pointedly giving Draco his back.

“Edward?” Draco asked, looking back down at the recipe, paying more attention to the ingredients and how they would come together. “Who’s the artisan?” He was starting to suspect the wizard in question would be a redhead and the point of the experiment less than academic in nature.

Teddy looked up at him with his best innocent smile “George Weasley?” He offered. Draco hummed, nodding slowly.

“And I suppose it’s not a coincidence Soup stocked all the foulest smelling varieties of base ingredients, is it?” He continued, running a finger down the list, a smile coming to his face as he got with the program.

“I suppose not...” Teddy admitted, rocking a little on his feet.

“Very well, now that I know what we’re working on let’s get started. I do believe this will be good practice for most basic brewing techniques.” He declared. 

Teddy grinned and relaxed, coming back to the table. “Here’s how we’re going to proceed: You’re going to start brewing a batch following the recipe and talk me through everything you do, once that one is brewing we’ll start another and we’ll mess with it a little so you can get a feel how every change affects a brew, alright?” Draco told him. He couldn’t believe he was about to brew artisanal fuel for dungbombs, but such was life and if that was what Teddy wanted… It was relatively harmless in the end.

They had to open a window halfway through the morning, Draco’s air filtering charms struggling against the potency of the brew, he supposed it was kind of the point, given the nature of the potion and the satisfied expression on Teddy’s face.

With the second brew, Draco managed to guide him into “spoiling” it enough to make it smell of roses and lavender, just by tweaking the procedure and adding a single agent to the mixture. Teddy was not amused, but at least he learned a few things about the importance of the proper order in which to mix ingredients, he was all about it at lunch with Soup, the old elf all too happy to indulge him, sharing similarities between cooking and potion brewing. Draco kept his doubts about that line of thinking to himself, cooking was nothing like potion making. He was a more than adequate Potionist and Soup still wouldn’t let him cook anything more difficult than scrambled eggs without supervision, for fear of the house burning down. It was an exaggerated reaction to one particular incident that wasn’t entirely Draco’s fault. Draco was confident he could cook if need be, Soup just did it better.

In the afternoon, Teddy agreed to try out something closer to the fourth-year curriculum, since they so successfully took care of the extracurriculars in the morning. 

“You should teach potions,” Teddy decided while they were scrubbing the cauldrons after an afternoon spent passing on a good amount of tricks he’d learned from Severus back in the day.

“That’s very high praise after a single day of teaching.” 

Draco chuckled, Teddy’s approval and confidence was heartwarming and he wanted to bask in it for a second before coming back to the real world. “But I don’t think a lot of people would be happy with me in charge of impressionable children.”

Teddy frowned, his eyes falling to the coil of the snake peeking out from under Draco’s rolled sleeve, right above the roll of parchment reading  _ Secundum Cavere  _ tattooed on Draco’s arm. His face was set and determined when he looked up at Draco’s face.

“I’d want you, and I’d be happy,” he stated, his stance solid as a rock as if he expected Draco to fight him on it. Draco almost dropped the cauldron he was cleaning when his heart swelled at Teddy’s words.

“That’s what’s important, mon choux,” he replied, putting the cauldron down and pulling Teddy closer, burying his nose in his hair. “Nothing else matters.”

Teddy gently patted his back and Draco almost laughed at how soft and careful he was right then. “Are you alright?” he asked softly once Draco pulled back.

“I’m perfectly fine, but I’m allowed to miss you when you leave for school and get a little emotional before you do,” Draco stated, pulling a smile out of Teddy.

“Alright, old man, you’re starting to sound like Grandma.” Teddy teased him.

“She’s a fierce and formidable woman from a line of fierce and formidable women, one should aspire to sound like her,” he replied haughtily, his nose in the air as he went back to the cauldron, making sure to get the last of the smelly mixture out of the bottom before storing it.

Soup ended up insisting Andromeda stay for dinner when she came to collect Teddy so they made a night of it, by some clever turn of phrase everybody managed not to mention what exactly they’d been brewing all day, so Andromeda was still in a good mood when she left, and Draco’s spirit was slightly lifted after a trying week.

* * *

 

Draco wasn’t sure how it happened exactly but coffee with Granger became a regular thing in the following week. She would come by with whatever party of visitors crowded Potter’s room, hang around until the end of his shift and then for a brief fleeting moment, Draco didn’t feel like killing someone while he filled her in on Potter’s status. She was even kind enough to let him rant about Potter’s erratic reaction to treatment, and the constant struggle to balance with his stupidly powerful core. He’d missed something good by investing all that energy into hating her during Hogwarts, they could have been a great team.

“I’m sorry I’m keeping you here so late.” He apologized when he realized just how long he’d been going on about the idiocy of potion quality control as it was recently reformed.

“It’s fine. It’s not like Ron’s going to be anxiously waiting for me at home. He’s been putting in so many extra hours of overtime I barely see him.” She sighed, waving away his apology. “They’re closing in on something about that illegal potion ring...”

They ended up spending another good half hour talking about the case and how much damage the organization had already done. Eventually, Draco offered to walk her to the nearest apparition point because the cashier was giving them dirty looks from across the empty shop.

“Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask, and I’m sorry if it’s maybe too personal,” she started “you mentioned seeking treatment in France for nerve damage...” She drifted off unsure how to ask the question.

Draco hummed an affirmative. “What would you like to know?” He asked as they walked side by side down the street.

“I didn’t know you were sick,” she replied.

“I didn’t expect you to.” Draco replied “I’m not sick, but the war wasn’t as easy on me as some people assume. I took part in a round of medical trials for a new treatment -well it was new at the time anyway- they were looking to relieve the after-effects of repeated exposure to  _ Crucio  _ and similar curses.” He explained, his voice steady and detached as if discussing another patient instead of himself.

“Oh.” Seeing Granger speechless was unexpected.

“It worked exceedingly well, all things considered,” he mentioned. “I feel like I gained in the tradeoff between effectiveness of treatment and severity of side effects.”

Granger hummed softly, touching the inside of her left arm.

“I do believe they continued the research,” he mentioned, not quite sure what to make of the weird energy between them.

“Good.” She nodded, a hardness in her expression that Draco remembered vividly from school and countless pictures in the papers.

“I believe this is you,” he mentioned as they reached a dark alley subtly marked with a graffiti of a cat wearing a wizard hat.

“Thank you for walking with me, Malfoy.” She told him with a polite smile. “See you tomorrow?” She asked.

Draco nodded “You know where to find me. Good night, Granger.” He watched her spin and Apparate away before doing the same to get home.

* * *

 

Draco should have known he’d have to pay for the small mercies afforded to him in the form of Hermione Granger. The universe came collecting with a late-night ministerial owl waking him up at two am sharp Friday morning, four hours before his own alarm.

He ripped the envelope open and his heart fell to the bottom of his stomach at the bright red lettering spelling DENIED at the bottom. His hands were shaking as he scanned the letter.

_ Dear Mr Malfoy, _

_ we regret to inform you… lack of personnel… secondary priority… lack of familial relations… _

_ your request of furlough for Narcissa Malfoy has been DENIED. _

_ best regards, _

_ Jo Griffith _

Draco dropped the letter on the table and slowly slid down to sit on the floor. 

It was happening again, he laughed hysterically.

It was happening again. 

Exactly the same. 

He ran his hands through his hair, tugging slightly as he curled up on himself, trying to work on his breathing while his mind spun out of control.

He was in a loop.

Stuck in a fucked up loop repeating itself like a nightmare.

Always the same, no matter what he did.

He dug his fingers in at the base of his neck and took a slow shaky breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling. 

He needed… 

He needed something…

He needed out.

Before he knew it, he was Flooing Granger, the letter clutched in his fist. He caught her awake soothing Hugo and when he saw the alarm clear on her face, he realized how ill-thought out the plan was.

“Malfoy?” She whispered, a hand protectively on the back of the baby’s head. “What’s wrong? did something happen to Harry?” She asked.

“No.” He shook his head “No, he’s fine. I...” He ran a hand through his hair, imagining what a picture he must make, showing up at two am in his sleepwear. “I-I need help and I didn’t know where to go,” he admitted, his voice breaking halfway through.

“Sit down. Start from the beginning,” she told him, shifting Hugo so she could wave him over to the couch.

“I’m so sorry to show up like this, I… I should go,” He mumbled as she gently prodded him to take a seat.

“Nonsense. You did give me a fright, but as long as nobody’s dead I think we can figure things out.” She stated with firm confidence. Once she was sure he wasn’t going to bolt as soon as she turned her back, she went to put on some tea. Draco wanted to laugh, somebody was dead, but there was little to be done about it now. He just wanted one day to be a man in mourning with his family, what remained of it anyway.

“So, are you going to tell me what got you up in the middle of the night?” Granger asked, gently pressing a cup of hot tea in his hands. He handed her the letter as she sat down next to him on the couch.

“I just needed her at my side when I go visit Astoria’s grave,” he told her staring into the cup “but she can’t go without escort and they can’t spare the personnel.” He cradled the cup with both hands, willing some of the warmth of the tea into them, while Granger read the letter. They must have taken too much time because at some point a very rumpled Weasley made his way downstairs.

“You coming back to bed, ‘Mione?” He asked, stifling a yawn. Granger shook her head and stood up to hand him the letter.

“Think you can do something about this?” She asked. Weasley looked between the letter and Draco for a few minutes while his brain misfired.

“Yeah, probably,” he said eventually, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m off work that day, I think… I can push things around and maybe come as his escort… her escort. I’m not department of correction but...” He yawned again, waving the letter vaguely. “I think an Auror will do nicely.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you,” Draco objected. “You have a family to take care of.”

“And you’re mourning yours,” Hermione replied. “Besides, you’re not asking, we’re offering,” she added.

“I don’t know how to repay you.” He looked up at them, his chest tight in a whole different way. “I don’t deserve any of this, after everything I put you through.” He suddenly felt very small sitting in their house in the middle of the night while they stepped in to solve his problems.

“It’s in the past, Malfoy, you’ve paid your dues, that’s more than enough,” Granger replied, gently bouncing the baby, who’d started fussing again.

“You just keep doing your job taking care of Harry, that’s payment enough for me,” Weasley replied with a shrug, “and maybe let’s keep the two am visits on a less than monthly schedule,” he added with a small smile. He made a copy of the letter and handed the original back to Draco before heading back upstairs.

“Are you ok to go home?” Granger asked him softly. “You can stay on the couch if you want,” she offered.

“No, I couldn’t impose.” Draco shook his head and set the untouched cup of tea down on the coffee table. “I’ll be fine,” he added. 

And for once he dared to believe it.

* * *

 

August the thirty-first was a clear and windy day, the sun shining and the weather pleasant, the first hints of fall hanging in the air as Draco buttoned up his black suit, smoothed down the lapels and tied his hair back. He didn’t eat before Flooing to the manor to collect his mother, he never could. She was already dressed when he showed up, ready to leave.

Draco offered Narcissa his arm and she easily took it, stepping outside in the morning light, her dark veil fluttering in the breeze. Weasley was waiting for them at the gates, dressed in civilian clothes, appropriately elegant and austere for the occasion. Draco’s knees almost buckled under the surge of gratitude he felt for the man. He could have just as easily showed up in full uniform instead of mourning. He could have not shown up at all, and yet, here he was, as quick to jump to his aid as he’d once been to put the man down. They exchanged small nods and he took out the portkey, offering it to Narcissa without a comment. They met Daphne and Blaise at the cemetery and walked in silence the long path to the grave. Weasley was courteous enough to give them some space, hanging back just enough not to be intrusive.

Standing in front of the tombstone was like an ice bath, it was a testament to his failings. Starting from the name carved in it.  _ Astoria Greengrass. _ She never got to take his name, but she got to take all the burden that came with it. All because they decided it would be best to wait and get married after she’d given birth, after Draco’s sentence was over. How could they have been so stupid? For the first few years her grave was regularly vandalized, just because she dared to love a man so undeserving of her. Then people started forgetting about her, and it was almost worse, that she should fall into oblivion like that.

Daphne placed the flower crown on the grave, gently caressing the corner of the stone before going back to Blaise’s side. Draco’s eyes traced the inscription they put in stone. “Brightest of stars, fountain of spring life, Kore Soteira.” It never felt enough, no words could contain the love that was ripped away from Draco’s life when she passed, nothing could explain the emptiness she left behind.

 

**_Eleven years prior_ **

 

Draco paced the hall of the manor like a caged animal, his eyes darting to the fireplace every few seconds waiting anxiously for someone to give him news. Astoria had been taken to St. Mungo’s six hours earlier and the last thing he’d heard was that there were complications with the pregnancy. 

After that a deafening silence. 

And he waited.

Stuck.

Powerless.

Hoping.

Daphne and Pansy had gone with her but neither had been in touch for four hours. They just said it was something to do with an old family curse, but the healers were optimistic they could fix her with a regimen of potions and rest. 

Why would no one talk to him? 

If she’d died, he would know. 

That was one darkly comforting thought.

But there were a lot more horrifying options running through his head.

His head snapped up when the flames turned green and a head appeared, “Draco Malfoy?” Draco nodded.

“Yes! Yes, that’s me.” He launched himself down to the fireplace. 

“You requested a medical furlough for visitation of a hospitalized relative?” Draco nodded again.

“Yes, I did. I did” he confirmed, his heart hammering in his chest. A word from this man and he would be able to go be next to Astoria, where he was supposed to be, supporting her and their baby.

“For Astoria Greengrass, correct?” Why was this taking so goddamn long?

“Yes, that’s her. Please, tell me it was approved,” he begged.

“I’m afraid not. It applies only to relatives by blood or marriage and she is neither. I’m sorry to tell you your request has been denied, Mr Malfoy.” The look on the man’s face was anything but regretful as he retreated from the fire.

“SHE’S CARRYING MY CHILD, YOU ABSOLUTE CRETIN!” He shouted to the empty fireplace; his voice raw as the panic clawed at his throat.

Denied.

They wouldn’t let him go to her.

He could barely breathe as he collapsed on the rug, staring unblinking into the flames, barely feeling the heat of them.

“Please, Merlin, let her be ok,” he whispered to himself just as Mother joined him on the floor.

They sat there in silence as the sun set around them, the pointlessness of his vigil weighing Draco down. Soup brought them food at some point, but it remained untouched next to them. Narcissa’s insistence he eat something falling to deaf ears.

He didn’t seem to notice the darkness filling the room. All that mattered were the flames that remained stubbornly red, taunting him, feeding the flickering hope and despair warring inside him.

When they finally turned green it was with the pale light of dawn creeping in. When all time is suspended, before the world takes its first breath for the day, in the minutes when nothing is meant to happen the unthinkable had happened: Astoria had taken her last breath. 

Blaise didn’t need to say anything. Draco knew as soon as his face appeared in the flames. He shook his head desperately a hand covering his mouth as he stared into Blaise’s eyes. The small shake of his head was enough to tear a choked sob from Draco’s lips.

“The baby?” It was a miracle he managed to form words, his throat was raw, a tidal wave of pain trying to pour out.

“Neither of them made it,” Blaise murmured, “I’m sorry, Draco.”

Draco never wanted to get up from the floor. What would be the point? His whole life had gone up in flames in the fireplace in front of him. He cried quietly until he had nothing left to give, the hollowed out empty feeling in his chest finally feeling appropriate, his heart had been ripped out and nothing could ever make him feel whole again. The world out there had lost all attractiveness, there was the same emptiness outside that plagued him inside the manor walls now.

He thought there wouldn’t be a moment when he’d regret not marrying Astoria more than that instant, when he failed to be there for her final moments, when he couldn’t comfort her, tell her just how much he loved her one last time. But he was wrong, of course. That moment came when his request to be allowed out of the manor to attend her funeral was denied.

Daphne moved heaven and hell and eventually obtained to hold it at the Manor. If he couldn’t go to her sister, then she would bring her sister to him. Blaise’d pulled some string at the firm he was interning at and somehow, they managed to get him the humanitarian leave on the grounds of it being his child getting buried with Astoria. He wasn’t sure he would have survived not being able to see her off, having to stay back while they put her in the ground, having to forsake his chance to give her and their child one last goodbye.

He never stopped trying to make her proud, be a man worthy of her love, be the man she thought he could be, but there were no words he could say standing over her grave eleven years later, the pain feeling fresh like the first day, the stab in his throat reminding him of the potential that vanished in an instant, in a drop of contaminated potion, while he wasn’t where he was supposed to be: next to his family.

They gave him a moment alone with them but eventually he had to tear himself away and head back. He waved his wand and watched the irises bloom around the grave. With one last touch to the sun-warmed stone he turned away to join the group. 

Weasley took the Portkey with them back to the manor and walked them back up to the door. As soon as Narcissa was back inside he made to leave.

“Weasley, wait,” Draco called. “Thank you,” he told him when he turned around. “What you did. It meant a lot to me.” It felt foreign to say those words to him, but August the thirty-first was a day that hadn’t felt quite right for a long time.

“It’s my job.” Weasley shrugged.

“It’s literally not,” Draco replied. “We both know it. Just let me be grateful.”

Weasley smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of his head “Sorry. You’re welcome, Malfoy. It was the right thing to do and it really was no trouble,” he told him, reaching out to shake his hand. “We all know grief, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Send my gratitude to Granger as well, please.” He added before letting go of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco loses his composture when Narcissa's furlough gets denied and he thinks he has to go alone to visit Astoria's grave on the anniversary of her death.  
> We all knew Astoria and baby Scorpius were dead but now we "see" it happened because of contaminated potions at the hospital and Draco was forbidden from being with them.  
> Also there's some kids being idiots and messing with dark magic, they're all fine.
> 
> So... Happy pride? Don't hate me too much, I'll make it all better, but for now feel free to scream at me in the comments.
> 
> The first one to catch the imagery behind the inscription on Astoria's grave wins the nerd award.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, somewhat on schedule here's the new chapter. Once again I have to thank [Ana-Iliad](https://ana-iliad.tumblr.com/) for the beta and you all for your infinite patience with me.  
> I can't make any promise about when the next chapter's going to be up. Exams are done but things got even more hectic somehow. The idea is to have it up by the halfway point of August but who knows.  
> There's kids and a very intense high stakes game of chess in this one. Enjoy.

Harry spent a week being poked and prodded and watching Malfoy get more and more aggravated by the unusual power of his magical core and the inconsistent response of his body to treatment, which was highly entertaining when it wasn’t deeply worrying. Having Malfoy’s attention on him all day long was nice though, brought him back to his school days when his only worry was surviving _one_ homicidal maniac.

He kept dreaming of brewing potions and it didn’t seem half as fun as what Teddy got up to during the weekend. He knew he should dissuade him from using the fruit of his labour in school. On the other hand, something told him Remus wouldn’t be entirely against the notion of his child making some trouble, especially if it was made by creative employment of academic prowess. Somehow, despite everything, there was a lot of his parents in Teddy, and Harry was comforted by the thought that they would be proud of the young boy he'd become, that he hadn't failed them.

There was always someone in his room and Hermione made sure to stay until dinner. Healer Dana and she made quite the pair discussing his treatment and each new development while Malfoy quietly fumed in a corner, jotting down notes as if they’d personally offended his mother. If one ignored the constant monitoring and experimentation, Harry wasn't doing so bad; a little bored maybe, sometimes the potions they tested him with had unpredictable reactions, but they were more on the fun, whimsical end of the scale rather than the gruesome, painful one.

The lack of visits from any of his co-workers bugged him to no end. He was forced to get his news from the papers. The colourful commentary from Nurse Hanson made it slightly more bearable, but it was still woefully lacking in confidential details, for obvious reasons, which were the parts he was most interested in.

All in all, he came out on the other end of the week much in the same state he came in. Healer Dana couldn’t start the treatment until they had a clear understanding of his body’s reaction to it and neither she nor Malfoy seemed any closer to a breakthrough. On a positive note, none of the potions they tested him for poisoned him, which could only be a good sign and he was determined to take it as such.

Saturday night he couldn’t sleep. It was too hot and humid; something must have been wrong with the weather control spells in his room. It couldn’t be by design unless they planned to sweat his ailment away, and what was it with the smell of pond? Was St.Mungo’s that close to the river? When he finally managed to sleep a little, he dreamt. 

_He was in a warehouse._

_A number of crates lined up for him to examine the contents: carefully packed potion ingredients, rare, invaluable._

_He inventoried them all; and deeming them satisfactory, he gave the crew instructions to deliver them to the lab._

_A hint of annoyance was nagging him, those weren't all he needed._

_Something fundamental was missing._

Then he woke up, restless and uncomfortable in his bed, when had the mattress gotten so lumpy?

_He was brewing again._

_Same thing, different recipe._

_He was missing a key ingredient and he needed to compensate._

_I_ _t was a delicate balance as he stepped from one cauldron to the next, watching the potions take the appropriate blue tone with deep satisfaction._

_He felt invincible as he bottled it up and packed the vials._

He woke up with a crick in his neck and an unpleasant lingering smell of rot in his nose that he couldn’t quite place, but that couldn’t dampen his good mood.

It was Sunday, Ron’s day off, so soon he’d be able to wheedle news of the case out of him and finally stop feeling so horribly cut off from the rest of the department while such progress was being made.

Except Ron didn’t show up until after lunch, and he came with Hugo in a baby carrier and Rose in tow, so shop talk was out of the question. But he couldn’t stay mad about it when Rose climbed onto the bed and started telling him all about the flowers growing in the garden.

“Daddy planted them special for me when I was born and now, they’re so big.” She smiled, motioning with her hands approximately how big those plants had gotten.

“Careful, Rosie, don’t squish Uncle Harry,” Ron warned her, catching her before she could sit on Harry’s arm. He resituated her on Harry’s good side to avoid any accidents.

“Sorry, mate, ‘Mione had errands to run and the kids really wanted to see you so...” Ron apologized, sitting down on the chair next to the bed.

“Don’t worry about it, I love the little rascals.” Harry grinned, tickling Rose with his good hand. “‘Mione’s been complaining about your extra hours, were you down at the office this morning too?” he asked, unable to resist the temptation to ask.

“No, he went to help Mummy’s friend.” Rose provided helpfully. Harry turned from her to Ron, both eyebrows raised in a silent question about this friend of mummy’s that needed help on a Sunday morning.

“Malfoy,” Ron sighed, shifting a little so he could get comfortable with Hugo strapped to his chest.

“Since when is Malfoy friends with Hermione?” Harry asked confused.

“It’s a somewhat recent development,” Ron replied evasively.

“And?” Harry prompted.

“He was having trouble with the ministry and I sorted it out for him”, Ron shrugged.

“Just like that?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, it wasn’t a big deal.”

Harry kept staring Ron down in silence, he knew his stare wasn’t as good as Hermione’s, but Ron was weak to it.

“It’s personal, I think you should ask him if you really want to know.” Ron defended himself, bouncing Hugo a bit as he woke up from his post lunch nap.

“So, you’ve got _personal secrets_ with Malfoy now?” Harry pushed.

“He needed an escort for his mother to accompany him to visit his fiancée’s grave and the department of correction wouldn’t give him one so I went, alright?” Ron cracked. “Merlin, you made it sound like we were having an affair or something,” he grumbled.

“Oh.” Now Harry wished he hadn’t pushed. It _was_ something deeply personal that he had no right to be privy to, but that raised the question of how Ron got involved in it in the first place.

“Yeah,” Ron replied, smoothing down the downy tufts of red hair on top of Hugo’s big round head.

“Was he ok?” Harry asked

“Mate, he was visiting the grave of the woman he almost married, what do you think?” Ron replied looking up at him with wide eyes. “It wasn’t a jolly walk in the park, but it was… you know, composed,” he shrugged.

Harry hummed with a small nod, glancing out the window for a moment. He should drop it. He should ask Ron about the case and things at home, chat with Rose about the end of summer...

“How did you end up involved in it though?” was what he said instead.

“He showed up and asked for help,” Ron replied, glossing over the fact that he showed up in the middle of the night in his pyjamas.

“To you?” Harry asked sceptically.

“To ‘Mione,” Ron corrected him. “I just happened to be the one with the means to actually do something about it, so I did.”

Harry hummed, still unconvinced.

“He’s not the man you think he is,” Ron told him eventually.

“An uptight asshole who thinks he’s the smartest person in any given room?” 

“Uncle Harry, you said a bad word,” Rose piped in, “Mum says that if you can’t say it nicely it shouldn’t be said.”

Harry chuckled, “She’s right, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.” he told her.

“He may be a bit of all that but he’s not what he used to be,” Ron decreed, the image of Malfoy reaching out to him _/just let me be grateful/_ impossible to forget.

As much as Harry hated to hear it, something deep inside him knew that Ron might be right; that fourteen years had to count for something and that he now owed the man his life, two times over,  but Malfoy was still an annoying prat, that was something Harry could hang on to. 

A fit, competent, devoted annoying prat.

Who somehow had slithered his way into a friendship with Hermione and by extension with Ron when Harry hadn’t been paying attention.

He had been too busy thinking about how good Malfoy looked in his healer uniform, which he couldn’t wear anymore due to his calculated decision to save Harry’s own life. Far too busy to pay attention to Hermione. Why did Malfoy have to mess with Harry's head like that? Being so infuriatingly calm about it too.

He decided not to linger too long on that or the fact that Ron was indisputably right in his assessment of the situation and asked Rose about her last few weeks of summer holidays.

They ended up spending the afternoon playing scrabbles with Rose and trying to keep Hugo from eating the tiles. At one point, Hugo decided he wasn’t getting enough attention and decided to grace them with a song that Rose declared resembled a Kneazle’s mating call. Nurse Roberts was delighted enough by the show that gave Hugo a lolly, and it was of course a token of appreciation for his singing, not a device to occupy his mouth otherwise. 

Ron left right before dinner, when Hugo started to get fussy.

He promised to say hi to Hermione too and be back sometime the following week if he managed to get away from work.

And Harry was on his own again, to face another uncomfortable night, at least whatever was wrong with the environment control spell got fixed during the day because he didn’t feel as hot and stuffy like the night before, and he most definitely couldn’t smell the Thames as he fell asleep.

_He was in a garden._

_The warm humid air made his clothes stick to his back as he walked through isles of planters, checking on seedlings and herbs._

_There was someone with him he couldn't see, he was much too interested in how his ingredients were growing._

_Smells mixed in his nose as he made his way through the greenhouse to the back where several pots of flowers were sitting unassuming. Until he got close enough; then they started hissing angrily at him, all together, the words too jumbled together for Harry to make out, but they were lashing out and it was funny somehow._

_Entertaining._

_A familiar show, he just needed to sedate them and harvest what he needed._

He woke up with a headache, the smell of the greenhouse lingering in his nose and a strange pain in his right hand that promised the start of a not-so-great day.

Malfoy walked in bright and early with the results of his latest exams. He didn't look too pleased with what he was reading.

"Morning, Malfoy," he greeted him. He didn't seem much different than the last time Harry saw him. But something must have changed for Ron to be so ready to defend his character.

"Potter," he replied, flipping through the exams, barely sparing him a glance.

He looked the same he always did. Same pale face and high cheekbones, same slender fingers and elegant wrists, same long legs and straight back. How could a man carry that grief without his shoulders curving under the weight? Without it showing somewhere on his body? 

"Potter?" Same straight nose and thin lips.

"Yes?" Harry’s eyes snapped up to meet Malfoy’s.

"What are you staring at?" He asked. Harry didn't have a good answer to that question and his brain was lagging on coming up with any answer at all.

"Ah… I heard about yesterday," Harry said the only thing that came to mind.

"Of course, you did." Malfoy sounded more resigned than annoyed. Like he should have expected Ron to spill the beans. He should have. It was Ron after all.

"I'm sorry about your fiancée" he added. Malfoy nodded slowly.

"Thank you, your condolences are very late but nonetheless appreciated." He replied with a small tired smile that Harry had no idea what to do with.

"How did it happen?" He found himself asking as Malfoy put the papers down.

"She got sick and the supplies of potions that could have saved her were contaminated. After she died the quality control standards got raised to avoid less than reputable suppliers getting inside hospitals at the very least," he explained.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Malfoy hummed; the tiniest twitch of his lips could almost be called a smile, "you said that already," he replied.

"Well, now I'm sorry for a different thing, Malfoy, it's my job to keep smugglers and less than reputable dealers from getting into hospitals, you see?" Harry retorted.

"You weren't even done with training at the time. It's not your responsibility to vanquish every single evil in the world," Malfoy replied sounding annoyingly reasonable. Harry wanted to argue that maybe not every evil but this specific one was his responsibility to vanquish, but Malfoy was already asking about the night and any change after the last rounds of tests. 

“Did you sleep alright?” he asked, Harry shrugged “use your words, Potter, please, I’m begging you” Malfoy sighed, looking down at him.

“I slept ok, had another weird dream,” Harry reported “woke up in pain.” Malfoy frowned at that

“Where?” he asked

“My head, and my hand, the good one,” Harry replied, waving said hand.

“Does it still hurt?” Malfoy asked, taking his hand and flipping it over, looking for any visible sign of injury, as if it hadn’t been the first thing Harry did upon waking up.

“Not much. It’s like… a phantom sensation? Like when you can still feel it after something touched you?” he tried to explain it as best he could, while Malfoy traced his palm and his wrist with his fingers in a way that seemed designed to derail any coherent train of thoughts Harry might try to have.

“We’ll keep an eye on it. It looks like the bond is strengthening, you might be starting to share sensation, and we still have no idea what is on the other side.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a slow breath. “I’ll talk to Healer Dana and we’ll figure it out, in the meantime we might have finally balanced the brew for your freakish magical core,” he mentioned, pulling a grin from Harry.

“So, you’ll start on my arm?” he asked, just to be sure he got it right.

“Unless you have any more delightful surprises for us looks like it,” Malfoy replied with a small smile. “I’ll leave you to your breakfast, make sure to eat plenty, you don’t want to start on an empty stomach, the procedure is unpleasant enough as is,” he recommended.

“Yessir” Harry replied, too excited about finally getting ahead on recovering his arm to pay too much attention to Malfoy’s mothering.

Hanson brought in breakfast and an update on Harry’s favourite news story: the potion smuggling ring. it wasn’t good news though, when was it ever? They had to release some of the people arrested in the latest raids because of lack of evidence.

That explained Ron’s foul mood when he came by later that afternoon. Harry’d been feeling woozy all day, in and out of sleep, but Ron coming in for lunch brightened his mood, except once again he was lacking in the details department. He just knew that some suspects had been released, and that the last dregs of the investigation around the sting gone wrong were wrapping up with very little in the results area.

Embarrassingly, Harry fell asleep halfway through a game of chess with Ron, while he was telling him about the hazing of the recruits before they became Aurors proper, another fun thing he was missing out on.

Ron decided to hang around and finish the game on his own against the board, it was surprisingly challenging for a kid’s board. Malfoy came in around five with a set of vials and an expression that meant business, only to hesitate when he saw him in the room.

“He’s sleeping” Ron said, nodding towards Harry. Malfoy weighed his options for a moment before walking in anyway.

“How’s he doing?” Ron asked as Malfoy arranged the vials on the bedside table.

“He’s stable, but his bond is strengthening, and I suspect whatever’s on the other side is interfering with the treatment,” Malfoy replied with a sigh, looking down at Harry’s sleeping form.

“He just passed out while I was telling him about finishing the investigation into his accident, must be exhausted,” Ron commented with a chuckle.

“Yeah, we’ve been putting him through the wringer with all the tests we ran on him,” Malfoy agreed. “You finished the investigation?” he asked looking up at Ron.

“Yeah, turns out it was indeed a secret warehouse and there was a lab somewhere, but they triggered a trap halfway through the sweep,” Ron replied.

Malfoy hummed. “That’s what slashed him open and burned him down,” he concluded with a nod, he’d seen the aftermath of it.

“Oh, no, that only collapsed the building,” Ron shook his head.

“It only collapsed the building” Malfoy repeated. “That means… There was someone there.” His eyes widened as the pieces fell together, finally fitting in a way that made sense.

“Yeah, but we couldn’t track them” Ron replied with a shrug.

“No, no, no, Weasley, you don’t get it. There was a person there that cursed Potter.” Malfoy’s grin, made him look just a little bit mental.

“Still don’t get why you’re so happy about it.”

“Weasley, you beautiful angel of a man, Potter’s bonded to the person who cursed him. I couldn’t work it out because I assumed it was all part of the protection charm work of the building, but there was an actual person.” Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, “Oh that makes so much sense.”

“Uhm… happy to be of help...” Ron offered, still not quite sure how this was exciting, but Malfoy seemed to think it was good news, and as long as they could go forward with Harry’s treatment, he wasn't going to question it. Hearing Malfoy call him an angel of a man was wild. Wilder than finding him on his couch in the middle of the night. But apparently this was his life now. He had Harry crazy AND Malfoy crazy now. 

“Should we wake him up?” he asked, nodding towards Harry.

“No, he’s sleeping off the effects of the latest round of testing, and he hasn’t been sleeping well at night,” Malfoy replied, summoning a chair and sitting down next to the bed. He took out a pad and jotted down a few notes.

“Don’t you have other work to do?” Ron asked.

“Tactful as always, Weasley,” Malfoy replied, shaking his head. “As it happens, no, I don’t because I’m not a Healer anymore but I’m not really a trainee either… and my shift is almost over anyway.” He sighed.

“Sounds rough, mate,” Ron commented. “You want to play?” he asked, pulling the chessboard between them.

* * *

 

Harry woke up to a very intense game of chess being played over him, he doubted either of them noticed he woke up and for once he could appreciate just how intense Ron got over chess without being the one to get utterly destroyed on the board. They were both so into it, Ron hunched over the board and Malfoy sitting even stiffer than usual, the tension between them was palpable as they stared at the pieces calculating and strategizing before each move. He’d never seen the pieces be so quiet during a game, when he played they were very opinionated about his choices. He tried very hard not to resent tiny chess pieces for the blind trust they put in other people, Malfoy he could understand, he must have played a million games on that board, but Ron? Why were they so trusting of Ron?

After a while he had to resign himself to the fact that Ron was a great player and the pieces could tell, unlike himself who was adequate at best. But he was too distracted by Malfoy’s face to feel bad about it. He was entirely focused on the board, his lips pursed as he considered Ron’s move, a finger tapping on the table as his eyes flitted from piece to piece until he called out his own. Harry looked at Ron, slouched in his chair, frowning at the board with the kind of concentration he’d seen only when he was studying the instructions to build a crib for his firstborn.

He kept going back and forth, trying not to breathe too loud lest he breaks the moment. He kept staring at Malfoy’s profile and the passion in his eyes as he waged war against Ron, until...

“Suck it Malfoy!” Ron grinned after calling out his move. “You’re going to pay for my next date with my wife,” he declared as the pieces on the board cheered for their glorious victory.

“Fine, but I get to pick where you take her,” Malfoy replied with a smile. He didn’t seem too upset about losing, Harry would almost say he looked satisfied, which was not at all the reaction he expected from Malfoy being bested by Ron at anything. 

“Alright, but it’s got to be something good,” Ron countered.

“I resent the insinuation that I would pick something less than excellent,” Malfoy replied.

“Better safe than sorry… Oh, hey mate, when did you wake up?” Ron asked when he finally noticed Harry wasn’t sleeping anymore.

“Something like fifteen moves ago,” Harry admitted, “but you two seemed so into the game I didn’t want to disturb.” 

Malfoy looked at him half-confused and half-amused by his admission, his eyebrows were furrowed but a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “That’s very considerate of you, Potter,” he commented, packing up the chessboard.

Harry shrugged, smiling back a little. “You got something for me?” he asked, nodding at the vials on the bedside table.

“Maybe, but I need you to walk me through your dreams first, starting with the latest ones,” he replied, pulling out his notebook.

“My dreams?” Harry asked with a frown. “They’re nothing interesting,” he replied.

“I believe otherwise. Weasley and I think there’s an actual person on the other side that could expose you to dangers we did not account for,” Malfoy replied.

“Weasley and you?” Harry asked, turning to Ron.

“There was someone else in the building you raided; it stands to reason they should be connected to the ring, no?” Ron replied.

“Do you really have nothing better to do than stay here and collect my dreams like divination homework?” he asked Malfoy.

“My shift ended an hour ago and unlike other trainees, I don’t have exams to prepare for,” Malfoy replied curtly, tapping the bottom of his pencil on the pad. “If you please, Potter,” he prompted, getting comfortable in his chair, poised to take notes.

Harry sighed and started talking from the end, working his way back to the beginning, through endless boring nights walking through greenhouses, stocking cabinets, brewing and bottling potions, studying schedules, like some kind of administrative employee. Malfoy let him talk freely, interrupting him very rarely, only to ask for more details.

“Blimey, mate, you’re bonded to one of their cooks,” Ron chuckled.

“Looks like it” Malfoy agreed.

“What do you think they’re making?” Ron asked Malfoy. He looked down at his notes, slowly running his finger down the page.

“I’m not sure, Potter’s description of potion ingredients leaves something to be desired, it could be a stimulant of some kind but...” he tightened his lips and looked up at Harry, “the last dream you had, you mentioned a greenhouse and plants looking like snakes?” he asked.

Harry nodded, “Yeah, they talked too, you know, Parseltongue, but they talked, I think they bit him,” he confirmed.

“They’re using cobra lily, it’s poisonous as well as illegal; more accurately venomous, since they’re classified as beasts instead of plants.” Malfoy tapped his notepad, frowning in concentration. “How’s your hand, Potter?” Malfoy asked after a moment.

Harry looked down at his hand and closed the fist. “Feels fine,” he replied before spotting the purple streaks running from his knuckles to his wrist. “Woah, those weren’t there this morning!”

“So, they took the antidote. Which is good, since it kept you from dying, but it means you’re transferring a lot more than we thought,” Malfoy sighed. “No wonder we couldn’t balance your treatment, we didn’t have half the stuff you were interacting with.” He twirled the pencil twice in his left hand, “We don’t even know what was an adverse reaction to our treatment and what was transference. Merlin, Potter, you couldn’t be easy for once, could you?” He shook his head, “we need to find a way to cut you off from the bond.”

“No” Ron interjected.

“No?” Malfoy asked, an eyebrow raised.

“He’s got a direct line to the man making the supply, he’s got to be in touch with whoever’s running the operation. Harry can be our man in the inside,” Ron explained.

“I can’t treat him while he’s this open to external influence, messing with volatile potions,” Malfoy argued. He set the notepad aside and crossed his arms, his back straight and his chin raised. There was an entirely different energy to their confrontation now. Malfoy wasn't going to be moved by any insistence coming from Ron, not when it came to putting any patient in danger, not when it came to putting _him_ in danger, Harry realized.

“I want to do this” Harry stated, finality in his voice. He finally had a chance to be useful, he wasn’t going to pass on it, whatever the cost.

“You could lose your arm, Potter. Permanently,” Malfoy told him, urging him to reconsider, trying to bring home the reality of the situation.

“I don’t care, I want to take the organization down,” Harry insisted stubbornly, staring Malfoy down.

“Fine. You can play spy until I find a way to account for the new information,” Malfoy conceded, making Harry smile in triumph.

“I can always refuse treatment after that.” He added. He was going to see it to the end.

“Yes, you can make a number of idiotic choices, doesn’t mean making every single one of those has to be your ultimate life goal,” he replied, standing up and picking up the notebook. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he told Harry. “Weasley, thank you for the game,” he added with a small nod.

“Thank you for the all-expense paid date!” Ron replied with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you catch the big reveal of this chapter? Did you see it coming?  
> Share your thoughts in the comment section, feed me love and that will keep me writing.  
> You can always find me on [Tumblr](https://tedahfromtayla.tumblr.com/) to chat.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your patience has been rewarded, here I am, posting early. 
> 
> As usual the beta is by the lovely [Ana-Iliad](https://ana-iliad.tumblr.com/post/185451756188/so-there-is-currently-a-media-blackout-in-sudan-to)  
> special thanks to [ Kai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kai_blxck) who got my ass into gear for this chapter.
> 
> This one is all fun and games... or is it?

Ron didn’t stay for long after Malfoy left. While Harry wanted to start digging into his connection immediately, Ron didn't have the latest updates on the investigation and he insisted he rest up.

He didn't see him until several days later. Who he did see was Malfoy, and Dana, and Hermione. None of them seemed too happy about the idea of leaving his connection open. Hermione didn't fight him too hard about it and Dana seemed resigned to his decision. Malfoy was an entirely different deal. He kept giving him disappointed looks and spent hours in his room in a corner doing research when he thought he was sleeping.

He kept muttering about Bingley and ass-kissing, or idiot Gryffindors and their self-sacrificial streaks. He felt particularly called out by that one. He ended up cursing Murphy and the shoddy management of the poison ward.

"How long does a man have to wait for a consultation, Potter? I don’t know how Andrews can bear to watch his ward be managed by an idiot like Murphy." He sighed, tucking a foot under his leg and dropping the pad he'd been working on. Harry had the good sense to stay quiet and keep pretending he was sleeping.

Hermione came by one day with an Unspeakable and Malfoy whisked the man away immediately, leaving Harry alone with Healer Dana and Hermione to discuss the small progress they made since she last came by. Harry had decided to keep a journal of his dreams but he hadn’t had any since then. Healer Dana had been looking into ways she could balance the treatment to account for the external influence. They were trying to work around the need for potions since apparently there was less risk of interaction with spells, something about spells being less invasive. They were safer but less effective, and in some cases, woefully inadequate.

Malfoy came back alone after everyone else had left, none of them exactly hopeful about his prospects. Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed in a better mood than he’d been for the most part of the week.

“So?” Harry asked, sitting up straighter against the pillows.

“Here’s the deal, Potter: we can’t sever your bond completely.”

“I don’t want you to,” Harry replied promptly. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“I’m well aware of your self-destructive tendencies. I’ve elected to ignore them,” he retorted with a small tilt of his head. “As I was saying, we can’t sever it completely but there is a way to dampen the effects enough to render the risk of treating you acceptable. It should lessen transference, especially physical symptoms,” he explained.

“But I would keep the mental link?” Harry asked. He needed to be sure.

“Ideally, you would gradually close that too but I can’t force you to,” Malfoy sighed, running a hand through his hair, annoyance pouring out of every inch of his body as he sat down in the empty chair next to the bed, his hair hanging in a long plait over his shoulder, a few strands escaping it as Malfoy ran his fingers through them.

“Alright, I’m game,” Harry agreed. “What do I have to do?” he asked.

“It’s fairly easy,” Malfoy told him, “It’s a modified Occlumency technique, sustained with custom protective charms.”

Harry looked down at his hands. 

Yup, fairly easy. 

For a trained Occlumens maybe. 

Which Harry was, as far as anyone was concerned.

Except he wasn’t.

“What’s wrong, Potter?” Malfoy asked, exasperation tinging his voice. Harry looked back up at him sheepishly.

“I never really got the hang of Occlumency,” he admitted, embarrassment heating his cheeks.

“You don’t know Occlumency?” Malfoy frowned. “You’ve been an auror for nearly fifteen years, how would…” Malfoy stopped as soon as he realized. “Of course,” he nodded, disdain dripping from his voice. “You’re Harry Potter, who cares if you’re a walking security breach.” 

He crossed his arms staring off into the distance for a moment. Harry could read the disappointment on his face for a fleeting moment before the usual composed mask slipped back on, but that was enough to twist something in Harry’s chest. He knew he got away with a lot more than reasonably justifiable in the department, but watching Malfoy reach that conclusion made him feel ashamed of it for maybe the first time since Ron got suspended for a stunt they pulled together right out of training and he got out scot free.

“Actually, no, I can’t just let this lie. How did this happen? Why did you decide that occlumency of all things was superfluous for your Auror training and life in general?” Malfoy asked after a long moment of silence.

Harry shrugged, “My first attempt back in fifth year wasn’t that successful and… let’s say it put me off the discipline.”

“You were learning occlumency in fifth year?” 

Harry watched as realization slowly dawned on him.

 “Oh, that’s what those secret meetings with Severus were for.” Harry nodded, surprised Malfoy would remember about it.

“Yeah, but we didn’t make much headway, and it had been enough invasion of my privacy for a lifetime.”

“I know it can be strenuous but there’s pensieves to preserve your privacy during training.” Malfoy tried to reason “Didn’t Severus…?” 

Harry shook his head and Malfoy’s eyes went wide for a moment, Harry gave him a small smile and half a shrug trying to downplay the discomfort.

“Merlin, Potter, will your life ever cease to horrify me?” He shook his head. “No wonder it put you off the art forever. I’m sorry you went through that, it was a low blow even for him.”

“It’s fine,” Harry replied, not really sure how else to reply to that. He didn’t know how he supposed to feel about Malfoy taking his side against his own godfather, for something that happened so long ago, and in the grand scheme of things, something so relatively small and inconsequential.

“No, Potter, it’s so far removed from okay I’m surprised you don’t get it.” Malfoy’s voice had that edge of steel that Harry was so intimately familiar. For some reason, that hardness and unbending anger sparked a warmth and comfort Harry didn’t expect to ever get from talking to Malfoy. “How did you get through Auror training without anyone finding out?” he asked, relaxing a bit, open curiosity on his face.

“I said I took lessons from Snape when they asked about it. It wasn’t technically a lie and Shacklebolt confirmed it so they had no reason to question it.” Harry replied. 

Malfoy chuckled, shaking his head. “Devious, so very Slytherin of you,” he commented, making Harry smile. Despite himself Harry felt kind of proud of himself for managing to impress Malfoy with his underhanded machinations to get out of Occlumency training.

“In good conscience, I couldn’t subject anyone else to what’s in here,” Harry added, tapping his temple. “When I was fifteen it was just embarrassing first kisses and maybe the ghost of my parents’ murder, but now...” he trailed off, Malfoy knew what he’d seen, not all of it but enough to have an idea.

“And we’re right back to Gryffindor. Very noble of you, but ultimately ill-advised. You’re vulnerable like this and you could put all your teammates in danger,” Malfoy pointed out, a foreign softness in his voice and a twitch in his hand as if he resisted the urge to reach out.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Harry retorted defensively. He knew he was putting everyone in danger but he wouldn’t,  _ couldn’t  _ let anyone else mess with his head. “I can’t let someone see the darkness that’s in my mind,” he murmured.

“Of course, we can’t let the perfect image of Saint Potter be tarnished by such a thing as experiencing trauma like mere mortal humans,” the derisiveness in Malfoy’s tone and the sneer were jarring as they closed over the warm openness Harry just got a taste of. They hit like lashes of a whip.

“Who would stand to see what I’ve seen and still look at me the same?” Harry defended.

“I would” Malfoy replied simply, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “I’ve seen you at your worst and at your best and do you see me look at you different?” He asked.

“Yeah, but you can’t, you’re my Healer, aren’t there rules against that?” Harry shook his head. “And you don’t count anyway,” he tried to argue. Malfoy’s lips twisted in a smirk.

“What are they going to do, demote me?” Malfoy chuckled, gesturing at his chartreuse robes. “I don’t count? Pray tell, why would I be different? Perchance because I obstinately refuse to worship the ground you walk on?” he continued, making Harry feel small when he pulled out all of his softest and most guarded buttons to push them cruelly. “You’re just a man, Potter, get over yourself and ask for help when you need it,” Malfoy told him, crossing his arms over his chest staring him down.

Harry stared him back, his jaw clenched. He couldn’t fold now, Malfoy would win if he did and he couldn’t let Malfoy win the argument. Not even when he was right and Harry hated him for it, for rubbing his face in it, and forcing him to say it out loud. He’d sooner bite his tongue off than give him the satisfaction.

It took Ron walking in to break the impasse. 

“Weasley, good to see you, Potter here was about to ask me something.” Malfoy greeted him, granting Harry the mercy of breaking eye contact as he got up from his chair, offering it to Ron.

“What is it?” Ron asked, cautiously testing the room. Harry looked between them, Malfoy had backed him against a wall and he wasn’t sure where Ron would fall. He could dismiss it now but Ron wouldn’t let it rest forever, and if it got back to Hermione...

“Fine, you can teach me Occlumency,” he relented, looking up at him, annoyed at being forced to admit defeat, especially in front of Ron.

Malfoy smiled down at him seraphically. “Was that a question?” he asked with the sweetest tone Harry’d ever heard him use. It evoked a sense of danger low in Harry’s spine that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“Will you please teach me Occlumency?” Harry rephrased it. 

Malfoy hummed and nodded.

“It would be my pleasure.” he replied satisfied.

“What was that about?” Ron asked. Harry busied himself with one of the many boxes of sweets awaiting his attention on the nightstand while Malfoy filled him in on a sanitized version of the truth.

“How safe is the spellwork he’d be subjected to?” Ron asked when Malfoy finished explaining what he got from the Unspeakable.

“Reasonably so. It will reduce Potter’s access to his own magic until the whole thing is lifted, it shouldn’t be a problem as long as he’s here and it’s only going to be temporary, isn’t it, Weasley? Until we can permanently sever the bond.” 

There. Again that undercurrent of danger that made something spark inside Harry. Something not quite pure and innocent.

“Yeah, we’ll exploit the connection only until you can figure out a permanent solution. What about mentally?” Ron caved so easily, Harry wanted to resent him for it but he’d just done the same.

“If we keep him under it too long his mental defenses might get weakened for it, but I plan to put him through rigorous training to compensate.” Malfoy assured him, and the images that  _ rigorous training _ evoked in Harry’s brain were better kept safely inside his head, which was why he would need said rigorous training. What had he gotten himself into, inviting Malfoy inside his head? What could have possessed him to do such a thing?

Ron chuckled. “Good luck with that,” he commented.

“Hey!” Harry interjected. “You’re supposed to be on my side here.”

“I am, mate, which is why I’m here to try and put together the pieces of the case,” Ron replied, flopping down on the chair and pulling out a file.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Malfoy told them.

“Malfoy, wait,” Ron called after him. 

“Yes?”

“I couldn’t get a master potionist on such short notice and… well, we need to identify the ingredients and the brew. If you’re not too busy, we could use the help,” Ron replied.

“I’m not a master potionist,” Malfoy reminded them.

“Eh, only formally,” Ron replied with a shrug. “It’s not like you lack the qualifications.”

Malfoy looked at both of them for a moment. “Are you sure about this? It’s sensitive information,” he reasoned.

“Not really, you can get this stuff on the street, which is the crux of the problem,” Ron pointed out.

“I meant the investigation part,” Malfoy replied with a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“I can sign you on as a consultant,” Ron offered.

“And your superiors are going to be on board with it? I could be running the ring for all you know,” Malfoy pointed out.

“Are you?” Ron asked with a grin.

Malfoy sighed. “No,” he relented.

“Thought so, you don’t have the time. Now sit your skinny arse down and help out.”

After two and a half hour of walking through his dreams in painstaking detail, Harry was starting to feel a headache building behind his eyes and Malfoy’s annoyance was palpable.

“Potter, ‘it was a plant with leaves’ is not a useful descriptor for potion ingredients,” he told him. “And I swear to Circe, if you add ‘they were green’ not even my vows of non-maleficence will save you from a strangling.”

Harry shrugged, “Well, it cuts out rocks and animals, doesn’t it? I don’t know, Malfoy, they were plants, how do you even describe them?” he grumbled, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

“I know for a fact that you took several years of herbology, I’m glad the schooling system didn’t fail you,” Malfoy retorted.

“It was fifteen years ago. Why don’t you bring out a pensieve so you can go have a look for yourself? Since you’re the expert here,” Harry bit out.

“Why don’t we?” Ron asked, with a lot less frustration in his voice.

“Because they’re not his memories,” Malfoy replied. “Dreams are a more delicate matter, they evaporate once brought outside the brain,” he explained. “If I were you, I’d start with looking into the Cobra Lily, it’s the only useful thing we managed to get out of him. There are only so many places they can grow in England. And next time, you can bring out a potion textbook or a herbology one so he can identify the ingredients more easily,” he suggested. “I’d say we’re done for today.”

“No, I can keep going,” Harry argued, struggling to put his glasses back on.

“Potter, as your Healer, I’m putting my foot down. Sleep.” he ordered. “You’re of no use to anyone if you push yourself to exhaustion.”

“He’s right, mate, plus if you sleep you dream, and who knows what the next one might bring.” Ron offered.

“Not really the point, Weasley,” Malfoy replied with a small shake of his head, “but I’ll take the support.”

With the both of them ganging up on him, Harry had no choice but to relent, at least Hermione came by to say goodbye and brought him a joke book to keep his spirits up.

* * *

 

The next morning Healer Dana came by with the Unspeakable to place the protective charms on him. Harry would have been a lot less annoyed about it if he’d managed to have another dream the previous night or if he’d managed to get something useful out of his dreams the day before. As things were, he’d managed to look useless in front of Malfoy and waste three and a half hours of time.

At least he got a cool necklace out of the whole ordeal. The Unspeakable explained it would anchor the spell structure to something physical and it would sit on his neck, between his head and his chest, acting as a buffer between his brain and his magic, lessening the effect the bond had on his body. It was a thin little strip of black leather with a rune stone in the middle, humming with the power of newly cast spells.

Healer Dana came back around noon to run one more set of tests after the spells had settled to check for interference as best as they knew how. The results must have been satisfactory because she finally administered the first round of potions right after lunch. They tasted like death but in his experience that was the case for most brews, especially healing ones, apparently taste had never been a priority for healers throughout the centuries. A big oversight if one were to ask him.

Malfoy showed up with an armful of books not long after that and Harry had the privilege to watch his step falter for a very satisfying second as his eyes zeroed in on the runestone sitting at his throat. He wasn’t sure what was so exciting but he wasn’t going to question it too much when Malfoy looked at him with heat in his eyes; and not the  _ I-really-want-to-kill-you _ kind, Harry knew that last one very well and this wasn’t it. Harry was sure that if it hadn’t been entirely undignified, Malfoy’s mouth would have been hanging open as he dragged his eyes up to meet his.

“Like my new accessory? They say it’s a preview of fashion week,” he joked, slipping a finger under the leather and tugging a little.

“Very elegant, tasteful,” Malfoy replied vaguely, “Suits you nicely,” he added, following his fingers with his eyes before snapping back to himself.

“Careful, that was almost a compliment,” Harry smiled.

“I’ll balance the karma next time I see you,” Malfoy replied with a small shake of his head. “I brought something for you and Weasley to play around with,” he mentioned, carefully stacking the books on the nightstand that was gradually disappearing under a mountain of cards and gifts steadily coming in for him.

“These ones are potions books, these ones herbology. All of them with pictures, should help with the decoding of your insight,” he explained dividing them into two piles.

“Thanks, Malfoy.”

“I can send you someone from the poison ward or from the potion lab to help you out if you need,” he added, patting the top of the pile with a small satisfied smile.

“I think Ron plans on getting someone from the Ministry, you know, to try and keep confidential information confidential,” Harry replied.

“But apparently, I don’t count in that department either,” Malfoy replied, a hint of amusement in his voice as he looked down at him.

“You were available and willing, would have been a waste not to use you. Plus you’re bound by patient-healer confidentiality,” Harry reasoned.

“I’m sure if I was running an illegal potion ring, that would be the thing that stopped me: unwillingness to break patient-healer confidentiality,” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’ll be back in-” he checked his watch, “three hours to check on your progress and cast the finishing spells, call if something starts to feel wrong or weird. Some tightness, pressure or itchiness in the wounded area is normal,” he told Harry.

“Yessir,” Harry replied, smiling when he saw Malfoy’s eyes linger once more on the stone at his neck before turning away to leave. He vaguely remembered Malfoy being into ancient runes at some point but was this one that fascinating? He craned his neck trying to get a good look at it but it was too high to see so he settled for running his fingers along the strip of leather keeping it secured, musing about the scratch of his unkempt beard. He should shave at some point, he was veering significantly off his usual clean shaven face into a very sorry look, skipping the boundary of Auror department facial hair guidelines, straight into newly divorced dad or something. He was surprised Malfoy hadn’t commented on it yet.

He should really get himself together now that he was back to work. In some unofficial capacity, but it still counted. 

When Malfoy came back Harry was starting to feel the discomfort Malfoy had warned him about. There was a tightness around his chest, he imagined that was how wearing a corset must feel like. It wasn’t necessarily hard to breathe but he was certainly aware of it when his lungs encountered more resistance than usual as he filled them. Malfoy smiled at his description of the sensation.

“You’re getting off easy,” he told him, gently pulling back the sheets to get a good look at his chest. The spot that got slashed open by the curse still felt a little tender but it didn’t hurt anymore. Malfoy took off the bandages and hummed satisfied. “It looks good, Potter,” he mentioned.

“I do work out,” Harry replied with a grin. Malfoy rolled his eyes at that but the hint of a smile on his face wasn’t lost to Harry. Malfoy reached out to run his hand over the raw new skin covering the burns that previously decorated the left side of his torso and Harry winced as soon as Malfoy touched him. He immediately retracted.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“No, you’re just cold.” Harry replied. 

Malfoy hummed.

“I know, sorry,” he apologized rubbing his hands together for a moment.

“It’s fine, go ahead,” Harry replied. His hands were just as cold the second time but at least this time Harry was prepared, and it kind of felt nice against the slightly inflamed skin. Once Malfoy was satisfied with the state of his injuries he pulled out his wand looking critically at his chest. He switched hands and placed the right one above his old injury, over his sternum, levelling the wand with the left.

“Take a deep breath for me, Potter,” he instructed. “You’re going to feel some pressure, don’t fight it, breathe through it,” he added.

Harry nodded and took a slow breath, filling his lungs before Malfoy started muttering in Latin (maybe Greek, he was no linguist) and the air got squeezed out of him, making him clench his teeth as his ribcage got crushed.

“Breathe, Potter,” Malfoy softly reminded him, gently tapping his fingers on his chest, helping him focus on the task at hand. 

Harry clenched his hand in the sheet, biting his tongue to keep himself from making any embarrassing noise.

“Potter,” Malfoy’s voice softly calling him pulled him back. Harry focused on the regular tap of his fingers on his sternum.

tap  
---  
| tap  
|  | in  
tap  
---  
| tap  
|  | out  
tap  
---  
| tap  
|  | in  
  
The cold gentle pressure of Malfoy’s hand gave him a grounding point, something to focus on other than the twisting of his flesh and the burn as Malfoy’s spell shaped the living tissue to heal his wounds. His voice was soft and lilting as he repeated words Harry didn’t recognize, almost hypnotic, distracting him from the pain and the effort to breathe through it. 

After the longest ten minutes of Harry’s life, Malfoy had reached his shoulder. The wounds on his side didn’t feel like they were a single wrong move away from splitting open again now. He finished with a flourish and a flick of his wand, the pressure finally relenting. He straightened with a satisfied sigh.

“All done,” Malfoy told him, gently patting his chest with a small smile. “Good job, Potter,” he congratulated as he ran a hand down his side, reviewing his handiwork, the soft cool touch of his hand soothing over the new flesh. There were discolored little spots on Harry’s dark skin where Malfoy had just regrown it, one for every drop of potion that managed to splash past his arm and burn through his uniform. 

He looked like a stag, brown skin dotted with white.

Harry had to giggle at the idea for a second. 

He gave them a few exploratory pokes finding them a little less sensitive than the surrounding skin, a slight alienness to it.

“Feels weird,” he told Malfoy.

“It’ll settle by tomorrow,” Malfoy assured. “The colour too most likely,” he added as he holstered his wand and pushed his hair back where it had fallen on his forehead.

“When can we go ahead to the arm?” He asked.

“If you don’t have any adverse reaction to what we’ve done today the day after tomorrow,” Malfoy said. “If I can secure a pensieve tomorrow we’ll start working on our extracurriculars,” he mentioned.

“You make it sound dirty,” Harry joked, rubbing his right side to relieve a bit of the tightness he felt there.

“There’s certainly nothing clean about your ineptitude at Occlumency,” Malfoy retorted with a raised eyebrow. “Does that bother you?” he asked, nodding towards his right side.

“Your suggestive choice of words? Not really,” Harry replied.

“Your right side.” Malfoy looked like he wanted to hit him and that made Harry incredibly giddy. He could still get a rise out of him and now it was even more fun for some reason, probably because he knew Malfoy couldn’t really retaliate.

“No, it’s just a little tight,” he told him.

“You’ll get that a lot, mirror pains, they should vanish as your body adjusts.” he reassured him.

“Thanks, Malfoy.”

“Duty, Potter. Try to sleep it off,” he recommended as he got up to leave.

* * *

 

Draco did not secure a Pensieve the following day. 

But it didn't matter because as soon as he got in for his shift, he walked straight into a crisis. 

Literally. 

He barely had time to wish Potter a good morning before the man rolled over and puked on his shoes.

"Sorry," he croaked, flopping back down on the bed, sweat beading his forehead.

Draco vanished the vomit and cast a general diagnostic on Potter.

"It's not mine," he said. Draco raised an eyebrow and offered him a glass of water and a bowl to spit out in.

"I'm fairly sure it was," he replied as he watched Potter wash out his mouth.

"No, no, I'm not the one sick," he insisted, wiping his mouth.

"My shoes would disagree," Draco replied, taking in the cold sweat on his forehead and the general paleness. Was Potter delusional as well?

"It's the other guy," Potter shook his head. "Something's wrong with him. Something went wrong with a potion," he had a split second to summon a bucket before Potter was throwing up again.

Draco’s eyes went to the collar adorning Potter’s throat. It should be dampening all of this. If Potter was this sick… 

“Hanson, get me Murphy," he called. He needed to bring in someone from the poison ward to reverse engineer an antidote, and he needed it yesterday.

"He didn’t show up for his shift.." Hanson replied.

"Tucker?"

"Maternity leave."

"O'Reilly"

"Sick."

"Is anyone from the poison ward in?! Andrews?" He yelled, he didn’t care if he had to pull the man from his race to be president, he was still Head of Poisons and he had a job to do.

"No, Healer Malfoy," Hanson replied after a second.

"How the fuck is that even possible?" he whispered as Potter hacked up his organs right behind him.

"What's going on, Malfoy?" Harry whispered, hugging the bucket with a trembling arm.

"You're going to be fine, Potter," he replied softly before turning to Hanson. "Hanson, you are going to FLY down to the lab and get me a bezoar and a dose of asphodel regenerative. Do not let anyone stop you, stun them if you need. Run, Hanson," he told her. She nodded and sprinted down the hall, leaving him alone with Potter.

“Malfoy?” Potter was the picture of misery, holding on the bucket like a lifeline, his eyes wide and scared, and his glasses askew on his face.

“It’s ok,” Draco told him, sitting down next to him on the bed and vanishing the content of the bucket. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, the words spilling far too easily from his lips. The situation was painfully familiar, but he couldn’t let himself indulge in the memories. He summoned a wet rag to clean his face off the sweat. Potter sighed in relief, relaxing for a moment under his touch before a dry heave wracked his body again. 

“It’s the snakes,” Draco racked his brain trying to parse out what Potter could possibly mean by that.

“The Cobra Lily?” he asked. Potter nodded. “It’s ok, the bezoar will take care of it,” he reassured him.

“The other guy?” Potter managed to ask, his voice rough as he glanced up at Draco from where he was hunched over the bucket.

“He’s probably faring much worse than you, if that’s any comfort,” Draco smiled, gently rubbing his back, feeling him shiver under his hand. “But we have no reason to believe that treating you won’t affect him as well. It will be a two for one, you know?” he added, trying to comfort him. Potter nodded, smiling weakly at him.

Finally Hanson burst back into the room and handed over what he’d asked.

“Alright, Potter, you know the drill.” Draco helped Potter sit up a little and handed him the bezoar. “Down the hatch.” He saw Potter’s breathing ease almost immediately as he swallowed the bezoar, relief flooding him as he watched the tension leave his back. “Good, now this,” he told him, uncorking the regenerative and hading the vial over.

Potter dutifully drank all of it, handing the vial back after. Draco watched him like a hawk, waiting until he was sure the unhealthy green tinge of his skin had started to retreat and his breathing was deep and regular.

“I’m guessing that counts as adverse reaction?” he asked, a small tired smile on his lips.

“Sharp as always, Potter, yes it does,” Draco replied with a smile, daring to relax a bit just as Dana walked in.

“I heard there was an emergency?” She asked, taking in the scene.

“I took care of it. I have reason to believe Potter got poisoned with Cobra Lily,” he explained, as he vanished the content of Potter’s bucket one last time before banishing it back to the closet.

“How?”

“From the other end of his bond,” Draco explained, turning to fill a glass with water and handing it over to Potter.

“I thought we took care of it.” Dana cast a general diagnostic on Potter, watching his vitals even out.

“Life and death situations tend to be outside what a simple ward can keep out,” Draco pointed out.

“You mean this could happen again?” Potter asked, a little shiver running down his back at the idea.

“If they keep mishandling volatile poisons...” Draco replied, it was the second time already this idiot got himself poisoned, at least the first time they had the foresight to keep an antidote on hand.

“We’ll get the lab to keep a batch of antidote on hand, in case this happens again,” Dana decided. “I’ll go place the order, you keep a close eye on him, you’re relieved of all your other duties for today,” she told Draco.

“What’s going to happen now?” Potter asked softly once Draco sat down on the chair next to the bed.

“Nothing changes, the plan remains the same,” Draco replied, trying to be as reassuring as he possibly could. Potter looked honestly worried for once in his life. He couldn’t help but feel protective when Potter looked at him like that, like he was his only lifeline, like he trusted him to make the right call, vulnerable like he’d seen him only once before, on his knees in the parlor of Malfoy Manor. “As you identify what he’s brewing we’ll stockpile antidotes and I’ll train you so at the very least we can keep your mind safe,” he explained, handing over a cloth so he could dry the sweat from his neck and his chest.

Potter nodded, relaxing as the plan was laid out for him again, clear and comforting, something to rely on.

“How do you feel?” Draco asked.

“Like my insides got flipped inside out,” he replied with a weak smile, that Draco couldn’t help but mirror.

“You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten something. I’ll go get you some tea,” he decided, getting up. It wouldn’t take long to fix both of them some tea but just to be on the safe side, he told Hanson to keep an eye on Potter for a few minutes while he took care of it.

They shared a light breakfast, Draco cajoling Potter to eat a piece of toast with his tea.

Draco ended up hanging around until lunch, regularly testing Potter’s blood toxicity as his face slowly regained its right colour. Draco didn’t need to run as hard a negotiation to get him to eat.

They played a few games of chess. Or more accurately, Draco ended up destroying Potter a few times.

“Shouldn’t you let me win?” Potter asked after the third embarrassing defeat. Draco raised an eyebrow at him,

“For what reason, pray tell?” he asked.

“I’m sick and miserable?” Potter offered.

“And being coddled by me would make you feel much better, wouldn’t it?” Draco countered, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips at Potter’s pout.

“Maybe...”

“Well, Potter, if you want to beat me at chess you’ll have to practice more, because I’ve never thrown a game and I’m not about to start now.” He grinned when he saw the familiar spark of competitiveness ignite in Potter’s eyes. “As far as the coddling goes I’ll leave that to the rest of the wizarding world,” he added, glancing at the mountain of unsanctioned sweets littering the bedside table.

Potter narrowed his eyes at him in suspicion. “Are you telling me that not even once did you let Teddy win?” he asked. Draco lifted his chin in defiance, that was a low blow, bringing up his one and only weakness in the world.

“Edward is an exceptional chess player, the details of his training are inconsequential and bear no weight on the discussion at hand. Do you want me to treat you like my child? Is that what you’re telling me?” Draco realized his slip as soon as it passed his lips but it was too late to take it back. He hoped for a moment Potter didn’t catch it.

“Your child?” 

Draco looked away, no such luck.

“My cousin. I meant to say my cousin or a child, which you are acting like right now,” he defended, feeling the blush start at his neck, betraying him. Potter couldn’t have missed it, but for some reason he let it lie for now, changing the subject instead of pressing.

“So, what about that Occlumency training you promised me?” Potter asked abruptly.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t secure a pensieve for today. I’ll see if I can get my mother to lend us the one from the mansion. I’m not even sure it can be moved,” he explained.

“Couldn’t we do without?” Potter asked.

“No.” It wasn’t something up for negotiation. “As much as everyone else would feel otherwise, I don’t like the idea of prying uninvited into your head when you have literally no defense or safeguard for what you might want to keep private,” he told Potter. “And it might not have occurred to you but it’s for me as much as it is for you.”

Potter relented at that. It was ridiculous, after openly saying he’d failed to seek training because he didn’t like the vulnerability, here he was gallivanting into it with no safety net. As if there was nothing sacred about the privacy of his own mind.

“Malfoy?” Potter called while Draco was busy changing the bandages on his arm after checking on the previous day’s work. The discoloration was fading already, the previously stark white spots were fading into a sandy colour, not quite the warm walnut it should be, but slowly getting there.

“Mh?” He replied, discarding the old bandages and pulling out a new roll, slowly and carefully wrapping it from fingers to shoulder.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Potter asked, genuine curiosity in his voice as Draco smoothed down the edges, his cold fingers brushing against Potter’s skin. He hadn’t realized he’d been particularly nice to him at all, but apparently Potter felt otherwise.

“It’s my job, Potter, you’re my patient, I have a duty of care towards you.” Draco replied softly. He was also an artist of half truths, his vow was something he took very seriously but it wasn’t the whole reason he’d taken a special interest in Potter’s case.

“Yeah, but you hate me,” Potter argued, a frown on his face, like he was trying to figure something out.

“I do?” Draco asked, sitting back down on the chair next to the bed.

“You don’t?” Potter asked, turning a little to face him fully. There was something in the small voice that asked that question. Draco was faced with a small eleven-year-old blond boy holding out a hand in friendship being flatly rejected, only now he was on the other side of that same scene.

“I don’t,” Draco replied, holding Potter’s gaze, trying to discern the swirling emotions lighting up his eyes. “I hate this character people created out of hero worship for you. I hate this fictional construction of a man that they made to help them cope with the horror of war. I hate the whole production and, most of all, I hate that at some point you started buying into it because being what other people wanted you to be excused you from looking inside and facing the void that’s there,” Draco told him, his voice steady and hard.

“But Harry Potter, the man, I don’t hate him,” Draco revealed, unbearable tenderness slipping through the cracks in his perfectly composed armour. “I never quite figured out how” he admitted, finally breaking eye contact, unable to withstand the scrutiny.

“You don’t know who I am, Potter,” he added softly, “maybe you never really did.”

“What if I want to, though?” Potter asked.

“Want what?” Draco looked back up at him.

“Know who you are.” His face was too open and earnest for Draco to suspect there were anything but good intentions behind the words.

“I suppose you’ll have to make an effort, then,” he said with a small smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you the first week of september for the next chapter.
> 
> Share your thoughts in the comment, they keep me very happy and a happy author is an active author.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a soft one.  
> Harry is thirsty, Draco is mildly amused.  
> Some truths are revealed, some skin too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I come to you three days ahead of schedule with another chapter.  
> There is almost no pain at all in this one. It's just cute and adorable and... I lied, even the fluff is painful, I don't know what's wrong with me, but it's mostly nice.
> 
> Once again I have to thank the delightful [Ana-Iliad](https://ana-iliad.tumblr.com/) for the beta work, she's the real MVP, picking through grammar and syntax, forcing me to write things that make sense.

The following week was excruciating, Harry barely got a glimpse of Malfoy. Hanson informed him the hospital had been hit with several cases of poisoning, which only worsened the ordinary chaos. To add to the general frenzy, the onslaught of accidental magic mishaps that normally hit around the end of September had come early this year. It kept the whole staff very busy. Harry was stable so he became a secondary priority. Healer Dana checked in on him daily but it was more making sure he was still alive than anything else. 

Ron was MIA as well. 

The only thing keeping him company was Teddy's letter checking in after the first weeks of classes. Apparently, quidditch tryouts had been delayed so he hadn’t had a chance to take his shot yet. He’d been shopping around for classes, trying to decide what to take as electives, he was starting to consider asking for a Time-Turner to pull a Hermione Granger. Harry was not too happy about that one. He remembered how Hermione got that year, the lack of sleep, absence from friendships, all-around craziness that overtook her life. He didn’t want Teddy to feel that kind of pressure. He’d have to write back to him soon and try to dissuade him.

He woke up from a nap one day to find Malfoy perched on the chair with two tomes balanced on his lap and a parchment floating in front of him, a quill lazily taking notes as he dictated in a low voice, he had another quill behind his ear and kept flipping his hair back whenever it fell over his shoulder. Harry kept quiet, watching him work, completely absorbed in the material. He was transfixed with the precise movement of his long fingers, trailing slowly down the page, gently tapping when he found something interesting and he cross-referenced with the other tome, the small furrow of his eyebrows as he concentrated, the thin line of his lips when he stopped dictating to the quill. 

After a while he seemed to grow annoyed with his hair, constantly getting in his way. He produced a long pin carved in dark wood and pinned it up. For a split second, Harry thought it was his wand but that would have been a step too far into the absurd. It was something Harry would have done, Mr I-carry-my-wand-in-my-back-pocket, not prim and proper Malfoy, who apparently carried hairpins in his uniform pocket and could do his hair up perfectly without even looking into a mirror.

“Malfoy,” he called after a while; when he grew bored of pretending to be asleep. Malfoy’s eyes snapped up to him immediately.

“Potter. Did I wake you?” he asked, almost apologetic, his hands still marking the spot on the books. 

Harry shook his head. “I’ve been awake for a while,” he admitted. “What are you doing here?” he asked softly, he didn’t want to break the quiet atmosphere that filled the room.

“Working,” Malfoy replied as if it were obvious.

“I can see that, why here?” Harry asked; “In my room” he clarified, gesturing around them.

“I don’t have an office anymore and the trainees are getting on my nerves with their scrambling for their exams,” Draco explained. “You have a quiet private room, you’re technically my patient since Dana assigned you to me and I’m working on your case. So, I have reasonable cause to be here.” He finished folding up the parchment with his notes and sliding it into one of the books.

“What are you researching?” Harry asked, pushing himself up to sit.

“Safe ways to sever a bond,” Malfoy replied, unperturbed by the annoyed glare Harry sent his way at the answer.

“Want to play some chess instead?” Harry proposed, resigned to the fact that no amount of stink eye was going to stop Malfoy, now that he was on a mission.

“Is that your cunning plan to delay my progress? Distracting me with sub-par chess games?” Malfoy asked raising an eyebrow. Harry saw him start to push the books aside, notwithstanding his protest.

“You were the one to say I needed practice,” Harry replied with a shrug and a small smile, “and Ron’s not around to play,” he added a little morosely. Ron’s absence grated him. He should be happy, it meant there was progress being made at the Ministry, enough to keep him busy; but it was progress he was cut out from. Now that they found a way to keep him involved, his inability to work made him even more anxious to get back into it and made his idleness even more insufferable.

“I’m your rebound from Weasley, aren’t I? I suppose I should feel honoured?” Malfoy scoffed, pushing the chair closer to the bed and pulling the rolling tray between them. “You do know the board is self-playing, right?” he asked Harry as he set up.

“Yeah, but it’s more fun when there’s another person in front of you,” Harry replied, his amusement clear on his face. For all his complaining, Malfoy was still agreeing to play with him.

“You like losing to a live person better than an artefact?” Malfoy teased, rotating the board so Harry would have the opening move. “To each their kink, I suppose,” he added with a sly smile.

“Shut up,” Harry retorted ever so eloquent, opening the game.

Malfoy was relaxed as they played, a small smile gracing his lips as his eyes wandered over the board. There was nothing of the tense concentration Harry’d seen on his face while he was playing with Ron. He would have felt offended if he didn’t so much enjoy the look of him so at ease and clearly in his element. There was an easy smile on his face as he watched Harry ponder and strategize, and that look didn’t make it any easier for Harry to keep his strategy straight. He felt like Malfoy was toying with him, a game of cat and mouse where Harry was meant to stay alive only as long as it amused him. Malfoy was so open and relaxed, so comfortable with his skills that Harry started catching him give out tells when Harry made his moves; a quick smile when he opened his pieces up for the taking, a raised eyebrow when he made a surprisingly bold move, a subtle widening of his eyes when Harry stumbled into putting him on the ropes for a moment.

The end result didn’t change much either way and after three games Harry sighed, leaning back against the pillows.

“Had enough, Potter?” Malfoy asked, a wide satisfied smile on his face as he reset the board.

“Don’t look so smug about it,” Harry grumbled, no real heat behind his complaint.

“I won 3-0, Potter, it’s my right to be smug,” Malfoy replied, his grin only widening.

“Do I at least get a consolation prize out of this?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy chuckled. “Isn’t it customary for the winner to get the prize?” he countered.

“Fine, what do you want?” Harry relented, watching him put the board away.

“From you? Nothing besides collaboration in your treatment. What were you about to ask for?” Malfoy asked, leaning back against the chair and crossing his legs at the knee.

“Tell me something I don’t know?” Harry asked.

“You’re a rubbish chess player,” Malfoy replied immediately, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Hey!” Harry argued, “That doesn’t count, I knew that already. I wanted to know something about you, prat,” he elaborated.

“mh… And you think I’ll give out information just like that because you lost a few chess games?” Malfoy asked, his fingers rapping on his knee as he watched Harry with a spark of interest in his eyes. Harry had a feeling they were starting a new game, one he didn’t know the rules of.

“Please?” he tried. That seemed to do the trick.

“Alright. I’m inked.” Malfoy told him. Of all the things Harry imagined to hear that was not the one Harry expected. He looked at Malfoy’s uniform, buttoned neatly up to his neck, the long sleeves, closed tightly at the wrist, no more skin showing than strictly necessary. Where would he get a tattoo? His mind went back to Ginny joking about his supposed Hungarian Horntail tattoo across his chest. He could see Malfoy with a sprawling dragon sleeping on his shoulders.

He meant to ask what it was but “Can I see?” spilled out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Greedy,” Malfoy chided but his right hand was already working on the tiny buttons of his left cuff, slowly sliding them through the holes and letting it fall open. 

Harry’s eyes followed the slow motion of Malfoy’s long fingers until he started neatly rolling up the sleeve. His mouth went dry as more and more pale translucent skin was revealed. Attached to that elegant wrist was a perfectly formed arm, he could have been carved from marble; the only things betraying his mortal nature were the faint blue lines of his veins and the occasional quickening of muscle under the skin. And his skin, it was perfect. The only thing disturbing the long lines of his arm were the dark leather straps of his wand holster, securely fastened to the inside of his forearm, the wrong one, Harry remembered. Harry forgot to breathe for a moment, drinking in every inch of revealed skin, from the slender wrist to the toned forearm sparsely dusted with pale hair. He very nearly whined when Malfoy stopped as he reached the elbow. As he snapped back to himself, Harry realized where this was going.

“I know about that one already,” Harry told him softly. He knew Malfoy had been branded. Everybody did.

“Potter, this is going to be very hard for you if you don’t stop presuming you already know,” Malfoy replied placidly, slowly loosening the straps of his holster and letting it slide off to reveal the faded mark underneath it.

Malfoy turned his arm so Harry could see. Above and below the mark sat two rolls of parchment reading “ _Primum non nocere_ ” and “ _Secundum cavere_ ” in neat, sharp cursive. Harry watched them for a long moment, waiting for them to move but they didn’t. The black letters sat still, a sharp contrast to Malfoy’s milky complexion. He looked up at Malfoy’s face with a frown.

“It’s Muggle,” he realized. Malfoy nodded.

“There are safeguards that prevent any magic from interfering with the mark. From what we know of the man that crafted it, probably lethal safeguards. Muggle was the only way I could get it,” he explained.

“What does it mean?” Harry asked, looking back down to the sharp crisp lines and the intimately realistic feel of the scroll on Malfoy’s skin, the curl of the paper, the warmth of the shadows.

“It’s the first two elements of my vow of non-maleficence,” he replied, “it’s very similar to the one muggle physicians take, I’m told; except in my case, much more binding. The first part means ‘do no harm’ the second says ‘care for’. There is a third part that calls for healing.”

“You didn’t get that part inked?” Harry asked, looking back up at his face.

“I didn’t” Malfoy replied, and from the finality in his tone, Harry knew he wasn’t going to get anything more about it even if he asked.

“It’s not your handwriting,” Harry noticed, studying the letters once more, they weren’t nearly as slanted as Malfoy’s handwriting, but they had the same sharp angles and tight loops.

“Astoria designed it for me when I decided to apply to train as a healer. She was that sure I would make it.” A moment of wistfulness took over Malfoy for the space of a breath, but it was gone as quick as it came, returning to the familiar composed mask that he wore all the time. It left Harry wondering if it was ever there at all

“She was right,” Harry pointed out.

“There weren’t many things she was wrong about,” Malfoy replied, sliding the holster back on his arm, tightening the straps with precise and practised movements.

“Why do you keep it covered?” Harry asked, watching him roll the sleeve of his uniform back down covering up, until it closed just under the handle of his wand, locking away any sliver of skin above his wrist. Malfoy didn’t show much skin at all, he never had, Harry realized. Even back in school, his uniform was always buttoned up to the collar and his sleeves down to his wrists, even in his flashier outfits he’d never seen Malfoy unbuttoned, physically or figuratively.

Malfoy looked at him for a long moment without saying a word.

“The truth?” Harry asked, noticing the calculating look in his eyes.

“It’s a story for another time.” 

Harry could work with that. It wasn’t a definite no, it was a no for now. He nodded.“Ok,” he agreed easily. It implied there would be a next time; Harry would take that. “Is that the only tattoo you have?”

“I do think it’s your turn to spill some untold truth now, Potter,” Malfoy deflected with badly concealed curiosity. Harry had to think about it for a while, trying to come up with something that hadn’t been splashed all around the front pages.

“I wasn’t the one to break up with Ginny,” he said eventually. Malfoy’s raised eyebrow and the tilt of his head betrayed his curiosity far more than his detached “Do tell” did.

“We’d been growing apart for a while and she was ready to admit it. I wasn’t. I told her some pretty nasty stuff the last time we fought about it. Ron didn’t speak to me for weeks but we all worked it out in the end,” Harry summarized.

“But that didn’t fit with your perfect, could-do-no-wrong image and the news spun it differently,” Malfoy concluded. Harry nodded.

“Ginny was not happy about it in the least.”

“I wonder why,” Malfoy shot back. “They seem to like her much more these days,” he commented.

“That tends to happen when you win championships,” Harry replied with a proud smile. Ginny was crushing it and he couldn’t be happier for her. Malfoy nodded in amused agreement.

“I suppose so. Oh, before I forget, Mother agreed to lend me the Pensieve. We can start tomorrow, Dana’s going to administer the next round of potions and I have to keep an eye on you while they work so we might as well put the time to good use,” Malfoy mentioned as he got up.

“You’re leaving?” Harry asked. Malfoy nodded.

“As delightful company as you are when you sleep, I have to stop by the Manor to pick up the Pensieve and I do have a life outside of these walls,” he replied.

* * *

 

_Harry was in a living room, sparsely furnished, and vaguely familiar._

_He’d been there before._

_Of course, he had! It was his living room and he was infinitely annoyed as his hands shook._

_He couldn’t brew with them in this state, and he was stuck going over shipping schedules and distribution. He threw the papers on the pile, frustration filling him, he was so close to distilling the perfect brew. If he could purify the Cobra Lily enough he could get a hallucinogenic dreamless sleep that would sweep the entire market, they’d push out any upstarter that tried to start selling from their basement._

_Forget clinical trials, this was where the real research was made._

Harry woke up with a gasp, reaching for his notebook to try and write down all the details before they escaped him.

Hanson walked in not too long after, bringing him breakfast and the latest news. Lately, Fashion Week was the main interest of all the news outlets, and today was no different. Apparently, someone collapsed last night on the runway, causing a commotion.

“Only the prompt intervention of Daphne Greengrass, fellow model, prevented the tragic accident from turning fatal.” She read out loud before turning The Prophet towards him so he could see the shot.

Malfoy and a blonde woman, that could have almost been his sister, were assisting a woman, laid out on the runway.

“Take a wild guess who's name isn’t mentioned,” she asked him, folding the paper back up. Harry didn’t need to. “I suppose ‘ _pretty model saves life’_ is a better headline than ‘ _professional healer works after hours’_ don’t you think, Mr Potter?” she shook her head with a small sigh.

“Is she ok?” He asked.

“She is, she’s here under observation for a day but it seems like she’ll be just fine, and she got her face all over the news,” she reassured him.

“Speaking about me?” Malfoy asked as he walked in, an ornate basin floating after him.

“Only tangentially, Healer Malfoy” Hanson replied with a grin, getting up to leave. “Have a good day, gentlemen.”

“Looks like you had an interesting night,” Harry commented, getting busy with his breakfast while Malfoy ran his diagnostics.

“I would much rather have had a less interesting one,” Malfoy replied darkly. “I never seem to be able to stop working, a sensation you might be familiar with,” he added, setting up the pensieve next to the bed. “Alright, Potter, since I’m on babysitting duty again today we may as well put you to work,” he decreed.

Harry grinned and nodded, sitting up a little straighter. He was getting his second dose and he was starting training, which he hoped would give him more control over this mental link. More control meant he could go deeper, get more than the random fleeting glimpse. Malfoy gave him a suspicious look at his unexpected enthusiasm so he toned it down a bit.

“This is how it’s going to work: you get rid of whatever you absolutely do not want to risk me knowing and deposit it in the pensieve. Know that either way, whatever I happen to see in there will stay between us and I expect you to do the same for me,” Malfoy started explaining, plain and easy, his voice steady and much more comforting than the last time someone tried to train him in Occlumency.

“Wait, am I getting inside your head?” Harry asked, catching up to the implication of Malfoy’s words.

“How else are you going to learn, Potter, from staring longingly into my eyes?” Malfoy asked, unsheathing his wand and pressing it to his temple. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. He slowly pulled a long, silvery strand from his head, his shoulders sagging when it detached, hanging from the tip of his wand before he dropped it into the swirling liquid of the pensieve.

Harry watched him repeat the process several times, followed the tension in his shoulders and the furrow of his brows building and breaking the moment those memories were pulled from his mind and he relaxed.

“Potter, I know we have all day but I suspect we have a lot of ground to cover.” Malfoy’s voice pulled him from his reverie and he jumped into action. As soon as the tip of his wand touched his temple, he realized he didn’t know what he wanted to protect. There was too much he wanted out of his mind, and every single instance seemed inconsequential.

After some deliberation he decided to take out most of his childhood, the worst parts, and his sex life with Ginny, it seemed like something best kept to himself. He considered taking out some of the war, the torture, the death. But he realized it would be pointless. All of that was already in Malfoy’s head too.

“I’m ready,” Harry told him with a determined nod. Malfoy nodded back at him and relaxed against the back of the chair he was sitting in, right next to the bed.

“Come on in, then,” he replied, opening his arms in clear invitation.

“Come… in?” He asked

“You do know how to read someone’s mind, don’t you?” Malfoy confirmed.

Harry nodded. 

“Then by all means...”

Harry nodded again, pointed his wand and took a deep breath. He looked into Malfoy’s eyes, clear and welcoming, almost warm as he encouraged him to step closer, look inside. A shiver ran down Harry’s back at the thought of how quickly they could change, how easily the sharpness could return, like a predator hiding his teeth behind a seductive cover, and Harry was a willing prey. He steeled himself and cast.

_Legilimens_

_There were too many people for the space._

_That was Harry’s first impression._

_And they were all very nervous, there was a buzz all around the room, people scrambling everywhere. It took him a long moment to realize he was backstage surrounded by models. Fashion Week, then. He spotted Malfoy sitting in a corner with Blaise Zabini, watching the mad rush with matching amused smiles. He walked closer to hear what they were talking about._

_“Have you seen Pansy?” Zabini asked, leaning closer to Malfoy, who just shook his head._

_“Not yet.”_

_As if summoned, the woman appeared and flopped in an empty chair next to them. She was stunning in a sharp suit, her hair done up in a stern bun._

_“All my models are ready to go and I’m ready to die,” she announced, watching said models file out in front of them, ready to walk out. Harry recognized the garment one of them was wearing, it was the one he’d seen on Malfoy a little while back, the one that inspired less than professional thoughts._

_“I wore it better,” Malfoy commented. Parkinson rolled her eyes, stealing his drink and taking a sip._

_“Yeah well, since I can’t get you to walk the runway, I had to settle for a professional,” she retorted._

_A moment later, they started walking out one by one, perfectly timed, until they weren’t anymore._

_“Something’s wrong” she realized, getting to her feet and walking up to the curtains._

/We need a Healer!/

_Malfoy and Zabini jumped to their feet immediately_

_“Not Daphne,” they both muttered as they ran out after Parkinson. Harry could taste the panic on his tongue. It wasn’t his, but it didn’t make it any less real, less crushing on his chest. The thought of her laying on the floor, not breathing chilled his blood. A horrible sense of deja vu overcame him as he heard Malfoy whisper “Not her too.”_

Suddenly the room wasn’t there anymore, only a shut door and a silvery dome behind it. He tried to reach for the door but it disappeared before his fingers could reach it, and in the next breath he was back in his own body in St Mungo’s.

“You know Daphne Greengrass?” Harry asked, blinking a few times to get used to the light.

“She married Blaise, she’s practically my sister,” Malfoy replied. “Besides she was in our year and my house, Potter, it’s a bit hard not to get to know each other when you live together for seven years,” he pointed out.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I think I remember her,” he lied. “What does she have to do with anything?”

“She works with Pansy. When we heard someone collapsed we thought it was her,” Malfoy explained.

“Why?” Harry insisted. He was missing something, the panic he’d felt was too raw for it just be theoretical.

“Because of how her sister died.” Malfoy cut it short, and Harry caught up. Greengrass. She was Astoria’s older sister. She nearly became Malfoy’s sister-in-law. “But that wasn’t the point of the exercise,” he added, the annoyance simmering down when Harry didn’t push for more. “Did you pay attention?” he asked.

Harry looked at him sheepishly and shook his head.

“Let’s try again, and be careful when I shut you out, I’ll do it slower this time,” Malfoy recommended, his face relaxed and patient, not an ounce of the frustration harry was expecting showed in the gentle curl of his lips.

Harry nodded determined, and levelled his wand again.

_Legilimens_

_Harry could barely recognize Malfoy Manor. It was completely different from what he remembered. It was still gothic, elegant and imposing but the stench of dark magic was almost entirely gone, somehow it was welcoming, the pale winter light filtered in through the high windows. The parlour was bathed in the warm light of the fireplace, the fire crackling merrily, making it feel like home._

_He spotted Malfoy lounging on the couch, leaning against the armrest with a beautiful woman nestled against his chest. He looked at least ten years younger, his hair cropped short in the back, only a little longer on top, nothing like the long waterfall covering his shoulders now, cascading down his back like spun gold. He looked relaxed, dressed comfortably, a soft shirt with his sleeves rolled up over the elbows, showing off his arms and more than one button open at the collar._

_Harry could only describe it as looking at peace, one arm wrapped around the woman’s waist, holding her hand over her stomach, the other hand holding a small book._

_He was reading poetry to her and she looked delighted with it; happy to rest her head on his shoulder and listen to his warm voice dance through the verses, her nose brushing against his neck, a hint of a smile on her lips as she closed her eyes and let herself be transported. Harry wanted to sit down on the carpet and stay for a while, listen to Malfoy’s voice soft and filled with love and hear the woman laugh when he got particularly theatrical with his rendition. The warm and carefree smile opening his face and lighting up his eyes was intoxicating, almost like the sliver of skin revealed at his collar, letting Harry imagine the delectable curve of a collarbone where his shirt fell open on one side. But then the poem ended and she was leaning in to kiss him, a hand cupping his jaw, the ring on her finger impossible to miss, and the gentleness of her touch overwhelming._

_“Draco, there’s something I need to tell you.” It was like Harry had taken a step deeper as soon as she spoke. He could feel the warmth of her skin and the scent of flowers hanging around her. He could feel the devotion in every touch._

_“We’re pregnant.”_

_Harry felt Malfoy’s happiness fill his own chest to the point of bursting, the excitement and awe mixing with the twinge of panic as Malfoy whispered “Oh, Kore,” swimming in humbled affection._

Just as he leaned in to kiss her a door materialized in front of Harry, slightly ajar. As he reached for it, it shut and he was back in the darkness in front of the silvery dome, he was back in St. Mungo’s on his next breath. 

His hand went up to rub his chest, his wand abandoned next to him on the bed. It felt hollow now, like the feelings he’d been filled with had left him empty now that they were gone. There was something missing.

“I didn’t know you have a child,” Harry commented once he got his bearings, the longing fading as he settled back into his body. He felt too light, his arms limp without the weight of Astoria between them.

“I don’t,” Malfoy replied, his voice carefully devoid of inflection. But Harry had just been in his mind, he knew what he’d seen, and his unwillingness to make eye contact gave him away.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“You already know.” Harry was about to argue that no, he didn’t, but then it clicked, Ron’s voice resonating in his head.

_He was visiting the grave of the woman he_ almost _married._

She died. 

She was pregnant with his child and she died.

He didn’t even get to marry her, call her his wife. 

Harry choked on the enormity of that loss, a loss that wasn’t even his own. 

His thoughts went to Teddy. How would he handle losing him after fourteen years? And Malfoy didn’t even get to meet his child. 

He looked down at Malfoy’s hands, the small silver band sitting on his finger looked a lot heavier now. Those hands never got to hold his baby. 

Malfoy was a father without a child.

He and Teddy made a lot more sense now, someone to fill that void, the closest thing he could get to familial blood.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured. It seemed too little, but he couldn’t not say anything, let that pain lie.

“So am I,” Malfoy replied.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Harry offered, unable to find words of comfort to soothe the ache he only got a glimpse of. There were no words that could possibly bring relief.

“I’m well aware, Potter. There are a lot of things that _are_ my fault, but unlike someone else, I can tell the difference between what is and isn’t. This one isn’t, although some say it was just what I deserved.”

Harry could hear the steel in his voice, hard and cold, covering the vulnerability he’d just witnessed. Why had Malfoy let him see that?

“Did you pay more attention this time?” Malfoy asked before Harry could say anything else, effectively putting an end to that conversation, covering his soft underside.

Harry nodded.

“What did you see?” he asked, encouraging Harry to analyze what he’d seen, figure out the details on his own.

Harry thought about it for a moment, trying to separate the feelings from the technique.

“You pulled me in at one point,” he said, unsure. Malfoy nodded.

“Yes, and then?” he prompted.

“Then there was a door and it shut me out of your defences and the door was gone, so I couldn’t get back in.”

Malfoy nodded, clearly pleased, an almost proud light in his eyes and the hint of a smile curling his lips that made Harry feel accomplished. 

“Can you tell me why?” he asked. Harry shrugged, unsure what he wanted to hear.

“The first step is to spot the intruder, which was hardly a chore since you move with the grace of a gryphon” Malfoy started explaining. His voice was so calm and even, the warmth and approval so overwhelming Harry barely noticed the jab at his delicacy.

“Next, you corner them and distract them. That’s what the pulling closer was for, when you’re in a particularly emotional memory it’s easy to overwhelm an untrained intruder by pulling them closer in, you already know those emotions, but for them, they are new,” he continued. Harry nodded along, trying not to get distracted by the thought of that younger Malfoy, full of love and happiness, fulfilled in a way Harry found himself longing for.

“Are you still listening to me, Potter?” he asked after a moment.

“Yes, new emotions, distract the intruder,” he replied, snapping back to himself.

“Once they’re distracted, you extract them from your mind. That’s what the door is for, it’s useful at the beginning to visualize a physical exit point, once you practice enough, you won’t need to. Once they are out, you need to keep them out so we’ll need to build strong outer defenses too or all of this will be pointless because once they are out they can just waltz right back in.”

Harry nodded. “Alright,” he agreed. “Why did you pick those memories?” Harry asked, picking up his wand again, twirling it between his fingers.

Malfoy chuckled. “I didn’t, Potter, you did,” he replied with an amused smile. “You didn’t go look for anything in particular and I simply let you be where you landed. You were talking about last night when I got in, so that’s what you went looking for and from Daphne to Astoria the jump was short.”

“Yeah, but why did you let me stay there? It was...” intimate? private? “personal.” Harry settled on the supremely unsatisfactory definition for what he’d just felt. He looked up at Malfoy, trying to understand why he’d be so ready to show that kind of vulnerability so openly, without reserves. He had no doubt Malfoy could have kept him out if he wanted to.

“You can’t hurt me with anything you find in there, Potter,” he replied softly, like there was something Harry couldn’t possibly understand. “I know who I am and I’m not hiding, not from you, not from anyone else.” He gave him a smile so kind, Harry felt crushed under it.

Before Harry could ask for more or get lost in the indescribable feeling written on the planes and lines of Malfoy’s face, Healer Dana walked in with a set of vials and a bright smile.

“Good morning, Mr Potter, are you ready for round two?” she asked, lining up the vials on the nightstand once Malfoy pushed the pensieve aside.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied with a cheerful smile. He wasn’t looking forward to the pain, but the pain was temporary, an arm was forever. Or something like that.

“That’s the attitude, Mr Potter,” she smiled back. “Two doses, one now and one in a half-hour, then four hours to activate and then Healer Malfoy will set the effects,” she reminded them, handing the first vial over to Harry who dutifully drank it down. Malfoy set a countdown on the other dose to alert them when it was time for it.

“I’ll leave you in his capable hands,” she told Harry, then she turned to Malfoy. “Call if anything goes wrong and don’t overwork him,” she recommended.

“I have it under control, don’t worry,” Malfoy replied with a placating wave of his hand. “Go wrangle the trainees, Aadhya.”

She shook her head and left with a sigh. “You can’t take them back soon enough,” she said, closing the door behind herself.

“Do you need a break, Potter?” Malfoy asked once Healer Dana left the room. Harry shook his head.

“No, I want to keep going,” he replied.

“You’ll tell me when you do.” It wasn’t meant as a question and Harry didn’t take it as such. He didn’t question how easily he took Malfoy’s orders, it just was more comfortable than fighting him every step of the way. Maybe he liked when Malfoy looked at him with approval instead of disdain. “Do you want to try for yourself or do you need to see it one more time?” he asked.

“I want to try, I always learned better by doing anyway,” Harry replied. He probably couldn’t take another trip inside Malfoy’s mind after what he just saw.

He settled against the pillows and looked into Malfoy’s eyes as he levelled his wand with purpose.

_Legilimens_

_Harry was caught in a whirlwind of memories._

_He was escaping Malfoy Manor, his heart frantic as Bellatrix’s dagger flew towards him._

_He was reuniting with Ginny after the battle, the weight of all the loss lifting for just a moment, sustained by the relief of seeing her alive. He could breathe for a moment._

_“Push me out, Potter” Malfoy’s disembodied voice surrounded him as he tried to make heads or tails of the flashes behind his eyes._

_He was at Ron’s wedding, next to him at the altar, watching Hermione make her way down the aisle, sharing a private smile with Ginny at the dopey smile on her brother’s face._

_He was at the graduation ceremony, him and Ron side by side in crisp new Auror uniforms, ready to launch into their new life. As he looked up, he saw Malfoy, decked out in his healer robes, buttoned up to his neck, flowing around him, the buttons glinting in the light as he looked right at him, picking him out of the crowd, “Look for me, Potter” his voice warm and inviting resonated inside Harry’s head._

_Harry pulled back, letting every fleeting moment fly away, concentrating on Malfoy’s presence. It was subtle but his magic was distinctive and familiar enough for Harry to follow to Andromeda’s house._

_He knew this moment, he recognized it immediately. It was right after the battle of Hogwarts, not even a week had gone by, he still had all the bruises and the burns. It was the first time he met his godson, his charge, his Teddy. He was so small back then, and at the same time too big for him to comprehend when Andromeda put him in his arms. There Malfoy was, in a corner watching him quietly, younger than he had any right to be, his eyes holding a multitude of untold emotions._

_“Well done, Potter,” he murmured, “you know what to do now.”_

_Harry nodded, holding Teddy close to his chest and looking at Malfoy, tall and so ethereally beautiful in that moment suspended in time as only a fantasy could be._

_Pull him closer, let the emotions through._

_He was in Grimmauld Place, the fluffy rug of the living room intimately familiar under his knees, the warmth of the fire at his back, licking his bare shoulders and sending shivers down his spine. The flickering light cast shifting shadows over Malfoy’s face, highlighting his sharp features. He was regal, clad in his black robes and sitting straight in his leather armchair, open and comfortable, owning it like a throne. Harry felt the twist of arousal spike in his guts when he met his eyes, fixed on him, betraying the mask of impassivity with the hot swirl of desire behind them._

_“Please,” Harry whispered._

Harry blinked against the harsh light of his room in St Mungo’s, his eyes fixed on the death grip Malfoy had on his wand.

“What happened?” he asked. Malfoy cleared his throat, a hint of blush peeking from his collar when Harry finally looked up at his face.

“You pulled me a little too close and I stepped away before you showed more than you meant for me to see,” he replied, eventually relaxing his death grip on his wand.

Harry felt the cold grip of embarrassment squeeze him “I’m sorry, I… that was...” he stammered, trying to find the words.

“A fantasy, it’s entirely natural, we all have them and I won’t hold it against you.” Malfoy finished for him, annoyingly in control of himself. Harry’d just accidentally shown himself on his knees begging…

“Thank you” he managed, relief flooding him. Malfoy was willing to let it go and pretend it never happened. He still felt like he had to explain himself though. “I know it must be weird for you… well… I… but it’s not…” Malfoy’s questioning head tilt made Harry forget where he was going with it. “It’s, you know, you’re straight and… ”

“Am I now?” Malfoy replied, a smile already tugging at his lips as a teasing glint lit up his eyes. “What did I say about assuming things, Potter?”

“but… Astoria” Harry argued.

“Ginevra,” Malfoy retorted, amused by his floundering.

“Fair. So… you too?” Harry asked with a small hopeful smile. Malfoy nodded.

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be up around the 15th of September if academic commitments and fandom fests allow, it's already partly written so I'm confident I'm going to make the deadline.
> 
> What do we think of the nice little Astoria cameo? and tiny Teddy?  
> We got to finally see Draco's highly anticipated tattoo (I know some of you were waiting for it) what do we think? good? bad? are you curious about the other one he's most definitely still hiding? What's up with Harry not speaking Latin?
> 
> Did you get the vapors like Harry when Draco rolled up his sleeve? Be honest, I won't tell anyone.
> 
> How relatable is Harry, a bisexual man, forgetting bisexuality exists? Heteronormativity is one hell of a drug.
> 
> If you like, find me on [Tumblr](https://tedahfromtayla.tumblr.com/) to chat.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron visits again, he and Draco settle a bet and a bit more. Harry's treatment proceeds and he starts facing the more inconvenient parts of his recovery, luckily Draco is there to make things better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I emerge from the swamp of academic and family duties to post another chapter before sinking again.
> 
> As usual thanks to [Ana-Iliad](https://ana-iliad.tumblr.com/post/185451756188/so-there-is-currently-a-media-blackout-in-sudan-to) for the beta, she came through for me even though she's pretty much in my same boat. Your work is very appreciated.
> 
> There is a vague passing mention of self harm, no one actually hurts themselves (on purpose) but for a hot second someone is worried they did.
> 
> Q the last part is for you in particular, and for my shameless self indulgence.

When Ron came by around lunch, Malfoy was trying to explain to him the technicalities of building strong mental defences . Malfoy had let Harry push and prod his walls, trying to find a way in as long as he wanted; well, until Harry’s own had started to waver under the effort, then he insisted they take a break and work on the theory over lunch.

That had been another insistence of his, that Harry ate before he started to set his shoulder. After the experience last time, Harry didn’t argue with him.

“Hey mates,” Ron greeted them, summoning a chair as soon as he walked in. He was still in uniform, a little rumpled but still neatly buttoned over his shoulder. “I was around and I thought I’d stop by, see how you were doing.”

“Malfoy’s been torturing me ever since you left, he has no mercy for my poor sick and decaying body or my suffering,” Harry whined.

Ron frowned, looking at Malfoy for a plausible explanation. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“I don’t let him win at chess,” he explained, “and we’ve started training.” He gestured to the Pensieve, sitting in one corner.

“Oh, how’s that going?” Ron asked.

“Great,” Harry chimed in just as Malfoy replied “Appallingly.”

“At least, you’re on the same page,” Ron chuckled.

“What were you doing around these parts?” Harry asked, just to steer the conversation away from delicate topics.

“I had to take the statement of the girl that collapsed yesterday, we think she took something bad and we’re trying to track down who gave it to her,” he explained.

“Any leads?” Harry asked.

“Not yet, but I don’t think the designers will appreciate someone poisoning their models during fashion week,” Ron pointed out, ruffling through Harry’s stash of sweets to find something to snack on.

“I can confirm that they indeed don’t,” Draco agreed, “nor during any other week of the year.”

“Right, you were there, weren’t you?” 

Malfoy nodded. 

“Yes, and I’ve already given my statement.” He didn’t seem particularly happy about it.

 “What about you? You got any new insider information for me?” Ron asked Harry, popping a chocolate frog in his mouth.

That made the conversation spiral into a detailed recount of Harry’s latest dream with a cross-reference to his notebook until Malfoy declared it was time for Harry’s treatment and Ron excused himself.

Malfoy insisted on walking him out, leaving Harry under the care of Nurse Roberts, who immediately asked about Ron’s children, so Harry didn’t mind the door closing behind Malfoy’s back.

* * *

 

“What is it, Malfoy?” Weasley asked as soon as the door closed behind them. He didn’t even try to hide the concern in his voice.

“Two things actually. One is that I’m paying up,” Draco produced a thin envelope from his pocket. “These are two tickets for the royal opera house, a private box,  _ The Magic Flute _ ,” he told him while handing it over. Draco had gone all out with this one. It wasn’t just a bet to be settled between them, he had a lot to make amends for and if this was the one chance he had to give back to the man without him feeling demeaned for it, Draco was going to take it and run with it.

“You also have a reservation at a very nice restaurant next to the theatre, the address is in the envelope. It’s under my name and my tab, so please dress appropriately,” he implored. He was doing a very nice thing arranging everything but he couldn’t have them -well him, he reasonably trusted Granger’s taste- show up in ratty robes or, Salazar forbid, jeans.

“Wow, you really went all out,” Weasley smiled awkwardly, taking the envelope and turning it a few times in his hands. “You know, I would have been happy with a paid dinner in Diagon or something, I almost feel guilty taking this,” he admitted.

“Don’t. A bet is a bet,” Draco replied easily, waving away his concerns. “You beat me, this is the fitting prize. You asked for a paid date, this is my standard,” he reminded Weasley, trying his hardest not to sound like an asshole saying it. He might have failed, judging by the less-than-impressed look on Weasley’s face. “Listen, you can do whatever with it, but I think Granger might enjoy an elegant night out where neither of you is in uniform or expected to give a speech, don’t you?” he sighed with a vague wave of his hand. “I can even babysit the kids,” it slipped out before he could properly think about it. “Or… arrange for a sitter,” he amended quickly.

“What was the other thing?” Weasley asked, apparently unconcerned by his slip-of-tongue.

“Potter. You can’t tell him anything about the investigation,” Draco declared without any preamble. He didn’t want to beat around the bush. 

“That might be a little hard,” Weasley pointed out and Draco knew he was right, Potter was already involved. He wasn’t going to let it go easily. “Why?” he asked, suspicion creeping in the angle of his lips as he questioned him.

“His mental defences are frankly a joke,” Draco decided not to sugarcoat it. He needed Weasley to understand the gravity of the situation. “Whatever you say to him is to be considered leaked information at this point. We don’t know how aware the other party is and if they were interfering, Potter wouldn’t be able to recognize their presence in his mind. You can milk him for details but I feel like it would be remiss of me not to warn you of the risks involved in making him an actual part of the investigative work,” Draco explained.

“He’s not going to like it,” Weasley sighed, running a hand down his chin, smoothing down his beard as he considered what Draco was telling him. “He’s not going to like it one bit,” he shook his head, clearly vexed.

“He doesn’t have to know,” Draco told him. “You can manoeuvre him, feed him false information to draw out your man. What is it with you Gryffindors and the lack of lateral thinking?” 

This was the dangerous part; Weasley could take it horribly wrong, but if they were determined to keep using Potter’s mental connection, he couldn’t let them do this like blind buffoons, ignorant of the dangers they posed to Potter and the whole investigation. 

“Don’t you think I thought about that?” Weasley snapped, Draco might have pushed him a little too far. Weasley might have been a foolish Gryffindor once, but now he was a master strategist, an Auror, an actually good one it seemed. “I don’t like lying to him,” he admitted.

“And how do you like not solving cases?” Draco prodded, ignoring the twist in his guts at the idea of lying straight to Potter’s face. 

“I’ll think about it,” Weasley conceded. “Thank you for this, I’ll make sure to enjoy spending your money,” he waved the envelope with a smile before sliding it carefully in his breast pocket.

“You do that,” Draco replied, unsure whether he meant the thinking or the enjoying the date, probably both.

* * *

 

Harry was glad he had Nurse Roberts to distract him, so he couldn’t obsessively go over the training session with Malfoy. 

Ordinarily Harry would be drowning in embarrassment after what he’d accidentally revealed by dragging the man into his fantasy. Of course, he’d managed to find a way to humiliate himself since the git was too nice and professional to do the job these days. Harry had to do everything on his own. Harry would have been praying for the earth to swallow him if he hadn’t been too busy freaking out about what Malfoy himself had revealed, in a much more elegant manner, obviously.

Malfoy was bi. 

Malfoy, perfect pureblood heir, the embodiment of tradition, enjoyed the company of men. 

And, Harry had just shown him his most embarrassing fantasy starring the man himself. 

But that was besides the point because Malfoy was into men. 

Among other things.

But he was into men. Maybe not Harry specifically, but at least men in general. Did that make Harry’s occasional fantasy more or less creepy?

“What did you two talk about?” Harry asked as soon as Malfoy came back in, relieving Nurse Roberts of her babysitting duty. He did his best to stow his internal freakout and leave it for later when he could do it properly, and without Malfoy in the room.

“Settling our bet,” Malfoy replied simply, pushing the pensieve aside after retrieving his memories.

“Yeah? Where is he taking ‘Mione?” Harry couldn’t help wondering what a date planned by Malfoy would look like. Probably something extravagant and needlessly formal. Something refined that would require beautifully crafted designer robes with an outrageous amount of tiny buttons, something that would be fiddly to take off...

“Dinner and the opera, like real adults. How are you feeling?” he asked, checking his watch, it was almost time.

“It’s starting to get uncomfortable and itchy. Itchier than usual, and it burns a little,” Harry informed him, it was different than last time. He supposed it was to be expected since there was a lot more to work through, the first round was barely deeper than skin level, here there was muscle involved.

“Let’s take a look,” Malfoy decided with a short nod.

Harry relaxed as Malfoy quickly unwrapped the bandaged form his shoulder, the brush of his cold fingers on his inflamed skin sending shivers down his spine.

“How does it look?” he asked once he felt the pressure let up as the last bit of bandage was removed.

“Grizzly, but in a good way,” Malfoy replied, “It’s the kind of carnage I can work with.”

“Jeez, Malfoy, you really know how to comfort a man,” Harry still refused to look down.

“Are you feeling less anxious about the procedure?” Malfoy asked as he pinned his hair up and pulled out his wand.

“Maybe...” Harry had to admit. But he didn’t have to like it.

“Then I did my job right… Again,” Malfoy told him, a smug grin on his face. “Now breathe for me, and relax, it’s not going to be pleasant.” 

Harry nodded and took a deep breath, his chest expanding to the limit, he held it in for a beat and then slowly exhaled.

“Again,” Malfoy instructed him. Harry took another deep breath and on the exhale he nodded, giving Malfoy the go-ahead. As soon as Malfoy started casting Harry seized up, barely holding back a scream. Whatever Malfoy was doing felt like hot knives cutting him into thin slices, and not just his left shoulder, it was both of them and it shot down to his right elbow.

“Talk to me, Potter, so I know you’re not passing out.” Malfoy’s voice was calm and steady, casual in a way that told Harry that nothing was wrong, something Harry could cling to as his muscles were pulled, stretched, moulded back into the correct shape. Malfoy was completely focused on his arm, his wand movements slow and precise as he occasionally repeated the incantation that sent stabbing pain through Harry.

“Can’t think of anything,” Harry admitted, struggling to keep his breathing steady, his brain too busy focusing on the fact that his body was sounding all kinds of alarm bells.

“Got any interesting mail lately?” Malfoy prompted with an elaborate flourish of his wand. Harry relaxed as a cooling sensation spread through his arm, dulling the pain.

“Yeah, Teddy wrote,” he mentioned, glad to have a distraction when Malfoy started again. Harry was starting to recognize the parts of the incantation, there were four of them.

“What did he say?”

“He’s still undecided about his electives,” Harry reported, deciding to ignore the awkwardness of talking about Teddy with Malfoy after denying the existence of their relationship for years. “He’s mentioned wanting a Time-Turner to take them all simultaneously.” The awkwardness was easy to ignore when his brain was entirely occupied with not crying from the pain.

“Doesn’t sound like a wise idea,” Malfoy commented, sending another wave of cold through Harry’s arm, giving him a moment of respite.

“It isn’t,” Harry agreed after a few long breaths, consciously relaxing the tense muscles, “I think he got the idea from Hermione.” 

That brought him to reminiscing about Hermione’s exploits with the Time-Turner and how ill-advised  it would be for Teddy to follow through. As he talked, he realized it actually helped distract him from the pain. Malfoy contributed a few words here and there, mostly focusing on his work. Harry doubted he was actually listening to him ramble about his Hogwarts years.

“I’m going to write back and try to dissuade him,” Harry concluded as Malfoy took another short break to let him relax.

“I wouldn’t.”

“You’d let him go through that kind of stress?” Harry asked, surprised by such a declaration. Of course, Malfoy would let a child do whatever he pleased, the consequences be damned.

“No, but if Edward is anything like other adolescent boys - and he is - the moment you put down a rule, he’ll try to break it, bend it, or circumvent it,” Malfoy explained, carefully moving Harry’s arm. Harry grimaced at the sharp twinge in his shoulder but didn’t complain. “On the other hand, he’s a very smart boy and not even half as stubborn as you, so if you let him try it for himself he’ll realize it’s a bad idea and he won’t be too proud to back down.”

Harry was speechless. Malfoy was right. He hated it. He was supposed to be the one responsible, the one making sure Teddy was making good choices in life, not Malfoy. 

“What if he doesn’t though? It’ll be too late for me to intervene,” Harry argued, unwilling to concede the point.

“It’s never too late for you to intervene, and you have to trust McGonagall’s good sense and Abbott’s care of her students,” Malfoy placidly pointed out. The gentle brush of his cool hand over Harry’s tender skin felt too good for him to argue further.

“I’m still writing him back,” he insisted.

“You should,” Malfoy agreed with a small smile. If Harry hadn’t known better, he’d have said there was a hint of fondness in his eyes. “Do you need a break?” He asked, a touch of concern on his face as Harry looked up at him. “We still have a good bit to go.”

Harry shook his head, “I’m good, just rip the band-aid off and get it done.”

Malfoy didn’t look too convinced and reached for Harry’s right hand, placing it against his own. “Push,” he ordered, holding his gaze. Harry’s grimace of painful effort as he struggled to obey didn’t seem to satisfy Malfoy, who holstered his wand.

“We’re taking a break and you’re going to eat something before I finish your shoulder,” Malfoy decreed. Harry knew a lost battle when he saw one and he actually could use the respite, he just didn’t want to admit it to Malfoy. “I wish you’d stop lying to me, Potter,” he said, pouring him a glass of water. “You know we’re working towards the same goal, yes?”

Harry carefully took the glass with an unsteady hand and drank slowly, ignoring the twist in his gut at Malfoy’s question. He felt properly chastised. He’d been putting up a front but Malfoy had been nothing but professional ever since he took over his care.

“I’m sure someone has already given you the speech about the long and winding road of recovery, but I believe it bears repeating.” Malfoy took the glass from him when he finished and set it down on the table. “We’re pushing your body to the physical and magical limit to heal you. If you don’t take time to rest when you need it, we’ll end up doing more harm than good. Do you understand me?” 

Harry could only nod at the urgency behind Malfoy’s words.

“And just so it’s painfully clear: it doesn’t make you less of a man or a Gryffindor to answer /yes, please, Healer Malfoy/ when I ask if you need a break.”

Between the wording and the stern tone that Malfoy used, Harry found himself fighting a wholly inconvenient warmth pooling deep in his stomach.

“Is there anything even remotely healthy you can snack on here?” Malfoy grumbled, surveying the pile of gifts stacked on his nightstand. He managed to produce some fancy dark chocolate and a small fruit basket and bullied Harry into eating a bit of each. Harry felt a lot better with some sugar in his system, and finally, Malfoy agreed to proceed.

Harry watched him work, really  _ watched _ him. He traced the set of his jaw with his eyes and the way his mouth curled over the sharp sounds of the incantation. He risked a glance at his own arm as he followed the line of Malfoy’s hand to the tip of his wand. Grizzly was a good word for the sight. There were whole chunks missing, in some spots he could see bones and the fact that nothing was bleeding made it even more disturbing. Not even the desire to keep looking at Malfoy’s long fingers wrapped around his wand kept him from turning away, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“How’s Grimmauld Place?” Malfoy asked when Harry gave a pitiful whine at a particularly intense stab of pain reverberating down to his fingertips.

“Fine,” Harry managed through gritted teeth. Malfoy rested a hand on his shoulder and sent another cooling charm his way, letting Harry relax for a second.

“I sincerely hope my mother’s ancestral home is a little better than fine,” He prompted before restarting his relentless torture. Harry breathed slowly, focusing on a little tuft of hair sticking out of Malfoy’s updo instead of the searing pain in his limbs.

“It’s good, I renovated a bit,” he told him once the pain became a dull constant instead of sharp peaks. “A lot actually.”

“Respectfully, I imagine,” Malfoy continued, swirling his wand a few times before restarting the incantation.

“Nothing that incurred Kreacher’s disapproval.” Harry believed that to be a fair compromise, although the old elf had already started to lose his marbles at the time. Whatever marbles he had left at that point. The wars, both of them, had taken a heavy toll on him too, like everyone else, but he’d been left without a support system to help him cope.

Malfoy kept up the inane conversation, prompting Harry to keep talking with a few sentences every time he cycled through the verbal part of the spell. When he declared the work for the day complete, Harry’s jaw was sore from gritting his teeth so hard, and the same could be said of his right hand. Malfoy produced a vial from his breast pocket, uncorked it and offered it to Harry, who struggled to grip it. Malfoy didn’t comment on it, he just let him take his time until he could bring it to his lips and swallow, closing his eyes as the pain started fading almost immediately.

“The mirror pains are getting worse,” Malfoy noticed. Harry shook his head, but that only earned him a sharp glare.

“Yeah, they are, but I think this was mostly me clenching my fist a little too hard for a little too long,” Harry replied. Malfoy took his right hand and raised his arm a little.

“Squeeze my hand,” He ordered when he was certain the mobility of Harry’s shoulder wasn’t compromised. Harry obliged, pushing through the ache in his joints. That seemed to satisfy Malfoy who let him be while he updated his file. Harry’s left shoulder felt like it was on fire, raw and painful, but it was there. It wasn’t an empty caved-in spot anymore, and the pain reliever took off a lot of the edge. The right one felt like he’d worked out way past his limit and it protested with a deep muscle ache with every movement he made.

“Alright, Potter, let’s get you wrapped up.” 

Harry hummed vaguely. Malfoy had given him the good stuff, and Harry was already starting to feel floaty as the pain in his arms got farther away. Malfoy’s cool hands on his skin were as sharp as always though. They were nice hands, soothing when they touched him, dry and strong and gentle and they never wrapped the bandages too tight. They were good hands.

And Malfoy always smoothed down the edges with a gentle caress that was so nice and comforting, it made him feel like a kid with a scraped knee, now he was only missing a kiss on the forehead and the picture would be complete.

“I’m not going to kiss your forehead, Scarhead,” Malfoy replied, the ghost of a laugh on his lips. Had he been reading his mind?

“No, Potter, although it wouldn’t have been hard to do. You’re speaking out loud.”

“Oh … Why are your hands always cold?” Harry asked. “It’s nice. Do you do it to make them nice?” he wondered vaguely.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m a cold-blooded  snake” Malfoy replied.

 Harry wasn’t entirely sure it was a joke, but he wasn’t entirely sure of anything right now.

“Come on!” he whined, he might be high on some very good pain reliever but that wasn’t an explanation.

“Ask me again in the morning,” Malfoy told him with a smile, “and try not to do anything stupid in the meantime.”

* * *

 

Draco suspected the delight on Soup’s face at his early arrival home that night might have been at least partially sarcastic, an unsubtle jab at the unpaid unsanctioned hours of overtime he’d been racking up ever since Potter showed up at St.Mungo’s. Either way, it was nice to have someone even just faking that kind of happiness at his sight after he’d had to deal with the self-important  sneers of his former trainees, which were only marginally better than the pity in Brown’s eyes.

Soup’s happiness would pass too once he found out Draco’d brought work home. Draco might have a problem, but historically he’d never been the best at making good decisions when it came to Potter. Old habits die hard.

That was how he ended up with copies of Potter’s chart spread on the coffee table, carefully adjusting the calendar of his treatment, spurred by /one/ extra strong coffee while Soup very aggressively lounged on the big armchair on the other side of the room. The tips of his ears barely  peeked over the edge of the armrest when he sat down, his feet dangling a comical distance from the floor. He floated a book in front of himself, a reflection of Draco floating the calendar slightly to the left so he could easily add his notes.

The single coffee Soup allowed him didn’t carry Draco for long, and operating on Potter had taken a toll on him more than he was willing to admit. If he was going to keep up with the programme, he would need to take his own advice and rest.

“You win, Soup,” he sighed, flicking his wand to send all of his notes neatly inside the folder. “I’m going to bed.”

“Very good, Sir. I’ll have french toast ready for your breakfast in the morning,” Soup replied, shutting his book and hopping down the armchair. Draco had the distinct feeling he was being placated. the small gratification for going to bed at a reasonable time was a dead giveaway, but he realized he didn’t mind it too much when it was Soup. It was less patronizing and more comforting, that wrinkly little creature wouldn’t let him self destruct as hard as he might try. 

Bribing him with french toast… Draco smiled to himself, shaking his head at the thought as he got ready for bed.

* * *

 

Harry woke up groggy and confused, the sanitization charms made his nose itch like hell which didn’t help. He was restless and annoyed at his sore muscles and the whole situation really, he couldn’t wait to get out. For the time being, though, a trip to the bathroom would have to suffice to keep his wanderlust at bay. The breakfast tray was sitting under a stasis charm on the table, so Hanson was out for the day. He’d attend to it later.

Harry grunted pushing himself up and then swung his legs down to get off the bed. Once he was vertical and steady, he slowly took the short trip across the room. 

He grimaced at himself in the mirror, his face hadn’t improved much from the previous day. He should really have shaved at some point. He scratched the unkempt beard and sighed. Might as well. Hermione brought over his shaving kit on one of her visits, and Hugo delicately mentioned Harry looked like a young sad Santa, and for once his sister had wholeheartedly agreed with him.

His plans came to an abrupt stop once he struggled to open the pouch. He was never going to be able to shave one-handed , not if he wanted to avoid slicing his throat open. He stared forlornly  at the goblin steel razor Bill had given him on his thirtieth birthday. He stood there feeling sorry for himself for a few minutes before deciding there was no time like the present to try, he’d have to figure it out one way or another.

* * *

 

Draco walked inside St. Mungo’s muttering against the cold rain that whipped past his umbrella charm and soaked him through, the wind dried out his lips and his hair was a mess. Not even Soup’s excellent French toast warming his stomach could lift his mood more than a little. It was not the best start to the day. He changed quickly and spent a good ten minutes drying his hair and trying to get it back into a dignified look. He ended up braiding it and calling it a day. He had patients to attend to, among which was Potter; who he’d left high off his ass on pain reliever, asking for forehead kisses.

Finding Potter’s room empty sent an instantaneous stab of panic down his spine. His breakfast was untouched and there was no sign of a possibly lethal emergency going down recently.

“Potter?” he called tentatively before jumping to the worst of conclusions.

“In here.” 

The answer came from the bathroom and Potter sounded terribly dejected. Draco carefully pushed the door open.

“Are you decent?” He asked before peeking in. 

Potter was sitting on the shower stool staring longingly at a straight razor he’d positioned on the counter. There was blood on it, but it just looked like Potter nicked himself while shaving rather than something more worrying; but one could never be too sure.

“If you’re considering suicide, might I suggest you do it when you’re no longer in my care?” The tone was light but the concern in his voice was undeniable.

“Very funny, Malfoy,” Potter shot back, rolling his eyes. “I wanted to shave,” Harry admitted with a sigh.

“I was wondering how long you were going to keep the hobo chic look.” That got him Potter’s trademark glare. “Would you like me to help you?” he offered, putting aside all the teasing and joking. He realized how vulnerable Potter must feel, facing one’s limitations was never easy and he had a feeling it wasn’t something that happened often to the Mighty Saviour of the Wizarding World.

Potter looked up at him, his green eyes shining in the dull light of the bathroom. “Would you?” he asked softly.

“Of course. Scoot aside,” Draco ordered, stepping up to him. 

He carefully healed the small clean cut on Potter’s cheek, vanishing the streak of blood quickly before turning to the sink. He dampened a towel with steaming hot water and carefully wrapped it around Potter’s face. While he let the man sit with it, he transfigured the stool so it would become more of a chair with a headrest. It wouldn’t do to accidentally slit Potter’s throat while shaving him. Not after all the effort he’d put into not letting him die against Potter’s best attempts to do just that.

“You’ve got a very nice razor,” Draco commented as he inspected the shaving kit. “Goblin?” he asked, surprised by Potter’s sudden development of a taste for the finer things in life. 

“Yeah, it was a gift,” came the muffled reply.

“Of course,” Draco chuckled.

“Are you implying I have no good taste?”

“It was never implied, Potter. I always said it outright.” Draco pulled out a strop from the kit and looked at it critically. “You know goblin steel never loses its edge, right?” he asked. “You’ve held Gryffindor’s sword.”

Potter cracked an eye open to see what brought the comment on and shrugged, “Yeah, it’s more about the ritual than anything else,” he admitted. 

Draco hummed, he could appreciate the comfort of a precise ritual, the structure, the elegance of the motion… He brushed the blade up and down quickly a few times. He could see Potter relaxing with every scratch of metal against leather. Maybe Potter had needed this scrap of normalcy more than he’d let on.

“Yesterday I asked you about your hands,” Potter said, almost questioning it, probably unsure of his memories.

“You did,” Draco confirmed.

“You told me to ask you again in the morning.”

Draco hummed his assent as he peeled the warm towel away from Potter’s face.

“Are you going to tell me?” Potter asked, looking at him expectantly. Draco sighed, for a moment he considered saying no, just for the fun of it, but he’d told Potter to make an effort and he was, staring at him with wide green eyes, ready to listen, trusting him enough with sharp blades around his face.

“It’s a side effect of a treatment I received years ago,” he said, giving his back to Potter as he wet the brush and swirled it in the soap.

“You were sick?”

“In a way,” Draco replied laconically.

He soaped Potter’s face up with tight circular motions, tilting his head back to make sure he hadn’t missed any spots. Potter was surprisingly pliant under his hands and the fact that he couldn’t talk for a while opened up possibilities.

“The war wasn’t as kind to me as people like to assume.” He rinsed the brush and opened the razor. “My time under Aunt Bellatrix’s tutelage left me with nerve damage due to repeated exposure to  _ Crucio _ .” 

He started working on Potter’s right cheek. He could feel his eyes on him, but the fact that he had a good excuse not to meet those warm green eyes stubbornly searching his soul made talking easier. He wiped the blade clean from the foam and went back to Potter’s face, more smooth brown skin being revealed with every kiss of the razor.

“There was an experimental treatment being developed in France around the time I was training here in Britain. So, I transferred there for my last year.” He listened to Potter’s slow and steady breath, unconcerned by Draco manipulating his face. “It worked, mostly. I’m not in pain, the spasms and tremors disappeared completely in a matter of few months.” 

This wouldn’t be half as soothing if there was the risk of Draco’s hand spasming and stabbing Potter’s face with a goblin-forged blade. As things were, Draco gained back his steady hands, the hands of a pianist, his mother used to say. He made them the hands of a surgeon as well. He tilted Potter’s head on the other side to get the opposite cheek. He could feel his heartbeat under his fingers for a moment; strong and quick against his hand, comforting Draco with the knowledge of a life that wasn’t threatening to slip away at any moment.

“I got back sensibility too. The price to pay was my ability to thermoregulate. I now run cold. There is a spell keeping my body temperature inside acceptable parameters. At first, it was external, like your collar, but they figured out a way to etch it into my skin after a few rounds of experimentation. Pansy always works temperature regulation charms into all of my clothes as well. But extremities are what they are.” 

He glanced up at Potter’s eyes as he tilted his head back to expose his neck. He found those sharp eyes fixed on him with a multitude of emotions swirling in them, giving Draco his full attention. Not being able to talk must have been killing him and Draco smiled at the thought of doing this again.

“Recovery isn’t always a straight line, most of the time it’s more of a squiggle and you have to make do with what you end up with.” He slid his pinky under the strip of leather pulling it back before carefully running the blade down the soft skin of Potter’s neck. He wiped it and watched Potter swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. 

“Almost done,” he murmured, placing a hand on his face to steady him as he got to the more delicate parts. He was so close he could feel Potter’s breath coming out a little shuddery when he lifted the blade. His mind flashed back to the image he’d seen in Potter’s mind, him on his knees, ready to beg… It suited him. But Draco shouldn’t be thinking about that with his hands around Potter’s neck holding sharp instruments.

_ /Or maybe it’s exactly when you should be thinking about it/ _

A traitorous thought that suspiciously resembled Blaise popped up in his mind.

He glanced up at Potter’s eyes and there was no denying the enlarged pupils; maybe Potter was getting off a little bit on being at his complete mercy, but it wouldn’t do Draco any good to dwell on that thought. He quickly finished Potter’s chin and wiped the excess soap on his face before applying cold water and aftershave.

“All done, you look like a passably respectable person again,” he announced. He looked delectable, but Draco wouldn’t be caught dead saying that unprompted.

Potter pushed himself up to check his face in the mirror, running his fingers across his jaw, feeling the smoothness of his skin.

“Thank you, Malfoy,” his voice was a little rough when he made eye contact in the mirror and Draco knew he didn’t mean just for the shave. 

He gave him a short nod holding his eyes, “You’re welcome, Potter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the beard, I know some of you loved it but it had to go.  
> Share the love in the comments to keep me afloat.  
> The next chapter is not going to happen until the second week of October at least. I have two exams to prepare for and a thesis to write (also two fests to write for, but you get to enjoy those eventually).


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I emerge from the swamp of thesis research to post the new chapter.  
> We have a baby, a live one, and Harry getting better, a little bit at a time.  
> I've been working on my owlpost entries and sirius black fest as well, so stay tuned for those when they drop.
> 
> As usual this chapter was betaed by the wonderful [Ana-Iliad](https://ana-iliad.tumblr.com/)

Potter’s scent lingered on Draco’s hands all day. 

No matter how many cleaning charms he cast, the warm spicy scent clung stubbornly to his skin. It was a very nice aftershave, the light fruity notes cut through the woodsy base in an elegant and masculine blend, but it wasn’t Draco’s, dammit, and it was distracting getting a whiff of it every time he moved.

It made him antsy all day and it just wouldn’t do. He couldn’t go around with his head in the clouds like a bloody schoolboy with rampaging hormones when he had patients to treat. 

Bloody Potter.

The end of his shift couldn’t come soon enough so he could go to Blaise’s for dinner and hear about his latest exploits. Pansy said she might come around, but he didn’t count on it too much, given the chaos after the poisoning. Besides, he didn’t need her seeing right through him and calling him out on his latest Potter bender. He was pulled out of his musings by Healer Andrew’s voice calling his name. He hated doing the rounds with the trainees when he could employ his time in a much more constructive manner and that tended to make him tune out everything that happened outside his ward. He felt only marginally guilty about the disregard for patients, but he wasn’t going to lay hand or wand on any of them anyway so what could it hurt?

“Yes, Healer Andrews,” he replied instinctively.

That was how he ended up with a baby in his arms to babysit while her mother underwent surgery. Couldn’t be more than six months old and no one had come to take care of her. Apparently, she couldn’t be put up in the nursery or left at the nurses’ station, and since of course, Draco was the most expendable of the trainees, he was the obvious choice.

He cradled the baby’s head, carefully resting her tiny body against his chest, smiling softly at the woman watching him like a hawk, her eyes wide and nervous. Surgery was unnerving enough without having to leave your child with a stranger.

“Her name is Gwen,” she told him, her hand lingering at her daughter’s back, “I-I’m so sorry about this,” she apologized.

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco shook his head. “We’re going to be waiting for you when you’re done, and we’ll become very good friends in the meantime.” 

He could feel a tiny hand on his chin, and soft puffs of air on his neck where Gwen had tucked her face. “I’ll take care of her, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” he assured. 

The woman - Caroline Ainsworth her chart supplied - nodded, the worried line of her eyebrows relaxing a little as she gave him a tentative smile.

“Whenever it’s most convenient to you, Malfoy, we have rounds to complete.” 

Draco grimaced at Andrews’ clipped tone and let Caroline give her daughter one last kiss before the nurses took over for surgery preparation.

Gwen was an incredibly well-behaved child. She chewed on the collar of his uniform quietly most of the time. Draco initially worried the material would be harsh on her soft gums, but she seemed to be content, so he let her work on the drool stain she was building up on the right side of his neck. Occasionally, she would squirm to look around and babble excitedly when something caught her attention and that’s when Draco realized the hospital was a death trap, full of things a child could grab to injure themselves. It was the first time he was genuinely happy not to be working in the poisons ward.

Soon enough, the warm weight against his chest started to feel natural, just like juggling to do everything one-handed. He started talking through everything he did just to see what would get a reaction from her, a trilling giggle or some interested babble. During his lunch break, he managed to nab a baby carrier, and everything became much easier with two hands free.

He went back to check on Potter early in the afternoon; Miss Ainsworth’s surgery was running long, but from what he’d heard it was going well.

“Let’s go check on our patients, Gwen, see how Harry Potter’s doing, uh?” He smiled at her bright grin and big brown eyes and blew a raspberry on her hand when she smacked him in the mouth.

“Is that the newest member of my Healers equipe?” Potter asked as soon as Draco walked in the room.

“Yes, Potter, this is Gwen Ainsworth and she’s a very bright healing trainee, smartest of her class by far,” Draco replied. He couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips at Potter’s laugh.

“Well, I feel very safe in her hands,” Potter replied.

Draco sat down to run his routine diagnostics on Potter, he’d leave checking on his injuries for later when he could avoid exposing Gwen to the gruesome sight. He let her happily slap Potter in the face a little while he worked, Potter didn’t seem to mind too much, judging by the besotted look on his face as he played with the baby’s fingers.

“Where did you steal a baby?” he asked.

“I kidnapped her from the nursery, of course,” Draco deadpanned, jotting down the results on Potter’s chart.

“You-”

“Yes, Potter, and my evil baby-snatching master plan involves telling my misdeeds to the closest Auror available,” he continued, watching the shock morph into annoyance on Potter’s face. He chuckled, tickling Gwen’s face with his quill.

“Come on, Malfoy,” he complained, “why do you have to be like that?”

“It’s just fun to fuck with you, Potter, you’re too easy,” Draco smiled at Gwen as she tried to grab the quill with her chubby hands. “She’s the daughter of a patient. Whoever was supposed to take care of her while her mother’s in surgery was a no show so she’s with me for the time being,” he explained, looking at Potter when she lost interest in the quill and started playing with his hair.

“You’re handling the potions regimen reasonably well but your parameters aren’t where I’d like them, I’m going to give you a few days of rest and see where you land before we push forward,” Draco explained to an entirely too distracted Potter. “I’ll come back later to check on your arm. How are the mirror pains?” he asked, finally pulling his attention away from the baby.

“Same as this morning,” Potter replied. “Muscle ache, it hurts when I turn it the wrong way and it feels weak.”

Draco nodded, “It’s par for the course. If it doesn’t fade in the next day or two, I’ll see that a physical therapist comes to take a look at you,” he decided before standing up to leave.

He kept mumbling to Gwen as he worked until a nurse stopped him to tell him Caroline was out of surgery, awake and asking for her daughter. As he approached her room, he heard voices inside.

“You left her with a stranger?”

“I couldn’t very well bring her along for my surgery, and Malfoy was willing.”

“You handed my niece over to a goddamn Death Eater?”

“He’s a healer, Julia! And you weren’t here. I was here alone, with a five-month-old and he took care of her.”

“Did he, now? Because I’m here now, where is he?”

“Right here,” Draco stepped in before things escalated further shushing Gwen when she started fussing. It was true that babies could pick up on the vibe of a room. “How was surgery, Miss Ainsworth?” he asked.

“You tell me, doc,” she replied, opening her arms with a smile to let him see the clean white bandages on her neck and collarbone disappearing under her shirt. “I feel like a new woman.” 

Draco cast a few diagnostics and nodded. “Everything looks good,” he declared, holstering his wand. “Time for you to go back to mummy, mon doudou,” he hummed, carefully lifting Gwen out of the carrier. She valiantly held on to his hair but eventually, she let go to latch onto her aunt’s chunky necklace.

“Thank you for taking care of her, Healer Malfoy.”

He nodded, already missing the warm weight of the baby against his chest. Merlin, he was hopeless. He gave both of them a tight smile and left the room before he made a fool of himself. There was a weight on his lungs that he couldn’t swallow as he returned the baby carrier. /For Circe’s sake, Malfoy, get a hold of yourself/ he repeated, staring at himself in the mirror. Once he felt like he could breathe freely, he did the only sensible thing he could think of: he retreated to Potter’s room with paperwork. Luckily the man was sleeping when he got in.

* * *

 

Harry thought that the day couldn’t get any weirder after he had a chub over Malfoy shaving his face. Surely, it had peaked early with the oddly intimate experience, the mix of humiliation and arousal was still hot on his cheeks as he made his slow retreat to bed. But he was wrong, oh so wrong.

The next time he saw Malfoy, he had a baby strapped to his chest and he was acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. Watching Malfoy coo over this baby while running diagnostics made Harry’s chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with his healing injuries. He was the most relaxed Harry’d seen him lately; there was a constant smile on his face, brightening every time the baby babbled excitedly in response to his chatter and Harry was damned if the sight didn’t send a wholly inconvenient warmth pooling in his stomach. This new soft Malfoy was going to be his death. If he didn’t get out of the hospital soon, he was going to do something stupid. Like kiss him. Or something.

At least the banter was something familiar, something normal he could cling to. That, and the naps were his only salvation. Except when he woke up from his nap, Malfoy was sitting in the corner, sans baby. The sight of him with a visible spit stain on his shoulder, the collar of his uniform unbuttoned and soaked in baby drool and his hair sticking up in a weird way on one side where baby hands had played with it. It all made Harry ache with a yearning so strong he feared Malfoy could feel it fill the room until there was no space to breathe.

Luckily, the man seemed engrossed in his paperwork, at least until he looked up and caught Harry watching him.

“Hi,” Harry whispered, not really sure why, since they were the only people in the room.

“Hey.” Malfoy was already putting the paperwork away, the small smile still tugging his lips allowed Harry to imagine something that could never be. “How are you feeling?”

Harry clenched his fist tentatively and carefully rolled his shoulder. “Better I think,” he decided. “Did you change your mind about waiting to do the next round?” he asked, dread and eagerness mixing in his question.

Malfoy shook his head. “Your magic core and your heart seem to be recovering in record time after the massive blood loss and magic drain, but your kidneys aren’t bouncing back quite as fast from your accident and I don’t want to put undue strain on them with the potion regimen. I already told you that, you have to take a few days off to recuperate,” he explained, and Harry was ashamed to admit Malfoy’s smooth voice and comforting tone made even kidney damage sound like good news. “But there’s something else we could do.” He nodded towards the Pensieve, “if you’re up for it.”

Harry nodded and pushed himself up, resting his back against the headboard. If he couldn’t work on his body, at least he could work on his mind. “Same as last time?” Harry asked, reaching for his wand while Malfoy brought the Pensieve closer.

“Mostly, but I want to play a game with you this time.” 

Harry wasn’t sure if he was only imagining the devious light in Malfoy’s eyes.

“A game?”

“Hide and seek. I hide and you seek, inside your mind. Your goal is to find me before I extract a piece of information. You can decide what I look for, the harder the better.”

“Won’t that be too easy? I’d already know where you have to end up,” Harry pointed out. Malfoy’s sardonic smile told him he was missing something.

“You think so? Let’s try then.” Malfoy quickly got rid of his sensitive memories while Harry thought about what the catch could possibly be. He deposited a few memories of his own in the Pensieve and then got comfortable.

 “Alright, what’s my target?” Malfoy asked, aiming his wand.

Harry thought about it for a moment. It had to be something that wasn’t public knowledge already. something inconsequential…

“The first time I spoke Parseltongue,” Harry decided, smiling at the memory of his cousin trapped in an empty snake enclosure.

“A muggle zoo on some family outing when you were a child, before Hogwarts,” Malfoy replied almost immediately. 

Harry’s eyes widened. “How? You already knew. how did you know? You’re cheating! You didn’t even cast!” he spluttered.

“Did not,” he replied with a smug smile.

“How did you know then?”

“You were thinking it so hard, I barely had to try,” Malfoy explained with a shrug. “See? Not as easy as you thought, is it, Potter?”

Harry huffed, of course, there was a catch, he needed to hide the information from Malfoy, but he had to think about it to choose and that brought the information right to the surface, ready for the picking. 

“You want to try again?” Malfoy offered.

The afternoon proceeded slowly, Harry picking the inanest events for Malfoy to find, his first time at the Hogwarts library, his favourite pair of socks, the colour of the folder he keeps Teddy’s drawings in, the taste of Bill and Fleur’s wedding cake. He got a little better at pinpointing Malfoy’s presence inside his mind and a lot better at steering him away from the NC-17 thoughts that surfaced every time he cast wandlessly to read Harry’s mind. He suspected that somehow Malfoy knew anyway and did it on purpose to throw him off his game.

They kept up the game in the following days and Malfoy teased him only a little when he found out how long it took him to finally kiss Ginny. He argued it had been her doing the kissing because if she’d waited for him to wise up, she’d still be waiting. Harry didn’t have a good rebuttal to that. The one positive side was that the spells were becoming so familiar to Harry he started casting wordlessly and that got him Malfoy’s trademarked nod of approval, which did  _ not  _ warm Harry through for the whole day,  _ at all _ , because that would make him desperate and he did  _ not  _ crave that half smile more than the actual results of his hard work.

Ron came by on Sunday with precious little information about the progress of the investigation. He vaguely mentioned a possible lead on the model’s dealer but nothing concrete. Harry, on the other hand, had notes, and he’d referenced them with Malfoy’s books. Ron took everything and promised to follow down every lead, no matter how farfetched. So far nothing turned up, he’d investigated every greenhouse that could conceivably host cobra lily, but they all checked out. That wasn’t enough to discourage Harry, he was making progress with Malfoy’s training and as soon as he was able to control the bond better, he’d be able to contribute more to the investigation.

Malfoy walked in to catch just the tail end of their conversation

“I know neither of you two care but my expert opinion is that this is an extremely ill-conceived plan, and my medical advice is to stop being an idiot with Potter’s mind’s safety,” he announced, “Well, I feel better having said that.” He nodded to himself, probably knowing full well the words would have little to no effect in swaying either of them; Harry was sure Malfoy had no illusions about that. 

“Will you be staying long, Weasley?” he asked, running his quick diagnostics.

“No, I was just on my way out,” Ron replied closing his notebook. “Harry, don’t overdo it,” he recommended before leaving.

“So, am I good to go for another round of reconstructions?” Harry asked, stretching a little. The aches and pains in his right side had faded considerably and Malfoy had said to take a few days, that was three days ago.

“I’d say one more day, you don’t want to rush through this,” he decided after taking a look at the results.

“But I really, really do,” Harry replied with a cheeky smile. He was only half-joking about it.

“Well, tough, because since I’m the one in charge of your care I actually put your wellbeing above your whims. You’ll wait one more day.” 

“What if I ask nicely?” Apparently, not even Harry’s best puppy dog eyes were enough to move him from his decision.

“I may be partial to polite requests, Potter, but not when it comes to the health of my charges, you should have learned that by now,” Malfoy’s voice was stern and plain, but Harry thought he could see something akin to fondness on his face, a tentative warmth in his eyes; just for a moment, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

“Fine, fine, you got time to work on my other regimen?” He asked, nodding towards the Pensieve, covered and locked in the corner. He could barely believe he was looking forward to their training sessions. If anyone would have told him ten years ago that he’d ever enjoy and actively seek Occlumency training, he’d have thought they were drunk or bonkers. And yet, here he was, looking forward to their next session. He was getting good through the hard work and there was a certain satisfaction in seeing the progress and earning Malfoy’s scarce praise for it.

Malfoy actually smiled at his question. “You’re getting a taste for the art, aren’t you, Potter?” he asked, just a hint of teasing in his voice. “I was thinking about moving on to the next step, up the stakes a little.” He placed a hand on the footboard, “if you’re up for it.” 

The challenge Harry could read in the quirk of Malfoy’s lips and the raised eyebrow was too tempting to turn down.

“What did you have in mind?” He asked, leaning closer.

“I believe it’s time for you to start applying your new skills in a less… controlled environment.”

“Oh?”

“I want you to learn to cast wandlessly and wordlessly, to do that the challenge is to break my mental barriers whenever. Be aware that if you agree to this, I will do the same for you. You won’t know when I might try so you will have to pay attention all the time until it becomes natural for you, like breathing and you won’t have to think about it.”

Harry gnawed on his bottom lip as he thought about it. It would mean upping the risk, if he didn’t know when Malfoy was trying to break and enter into his mind, he couldn’t preserve the memories he might not want him to see, the only alternative would be just leaving them permanently in the pensieve. On the other hand, the added challenge would push him further.

“Scared, Potter?”

Harry’s eyes snapped up to Malfoy’s face, and a grin stretched on his face. “You wish. You’re on.”

“I’ll see you after my rounds, and let me remind you that you have free reign to attack /my/ mental defences, no one else has given you the same permission, don’t let me catch you ‘practicing’ with the rest of the staff.”

Harry nodded, the stern note in Malfoy’s voice wiping the grin from his face. “Of course,” he replied. He’d had his mind violated on more than one occasion; he wasn’t about to inflict it on someone else.

* * *

 

Harry’s first approach was quantity over quality. If he tried every time he saw Malfoy, at some point he was bound to catch him off guard, right?

“You’re growing rather predictable, Potter,” Malfoy informed him, early the following day when he failed to breach his defences for the fifth time. “I suppose it’s good practice, but you’ll never catch me off guard if you train me to build my walls before entering your room. May I suggest a different approach? Also, hiding your wand under the sheet is not the same as casting wandlessly,” He hummed, flipping the file shut.

Harry huffed; he was no fun. “Maybe I’m wearing you down, and you’re just trying to make me stop before I break through.”

Malfoy chuckled. “Maybe,” he replied. “Suit yourself. Your tests look good, I’ll talk to Healer Dana, but I think you’re good to receive the next dose this afternoon.”

Harry immediately perked up at the news. “Great! Down to the wrist?”

“More like the elbow, I’ll try to finish the joint in one session but I don’t think we’ll go further than that,” Malfoy replied with a small smile. “After that we’ll probably take a break before doing your forearm and once I’m done with that you’ll be starting physical therapy. The hand will come after.”

Harry nodded as Malfoy laid out the steps. It sounded simple and straightforward. It sounded doable, like a complete recovery was within reach, and Malfoy’s warm voice was comforting as he plotted the path forward.

“How long is that going to take?” Harry asked.

“Best case scenario, you’ll be home before Christmas, coming in just for physical therapy; but let’s be honest, it’s never best case scenario with you so you might celebrate New Years here,” Malfoy replied honestly. Harry gave him a wry smile, he was right, it was never the easiest way out for him.

“I suppose it could be worse, I’ve got decent company after all,” he considered.

“Excuse you, I’m excellent company, Potter,” Malfoy drawled, but there was no bite behind the words.

As promised, he came back after lunch with two vials of his potion and what Harry recognized as pain reliever, his sworn enemy and best friend. Last time he took some, he’d apparently asked for forehead kisses; he didn’t want to think about what might come out of his mouth next. And they said Veritaserum was the worst brew for people with secrets to keep, whoever thought that never took pain reliever of the good kind. 

“Something wrong?” Malfoy asked, setting the vials down on the rolling table.

“No,” Harry replied, shaking his head “just… not looking forward to the pain.”

Malfoy hummed as he uncorked the first vial and handed it over. “Given your lifestyle, I would have thought you get at least a modicum of enjoyment out of it.”

Harry almost choked on the potion but managed to swallow it all and continue breathing enough to croak out a, “What?”

“It might not be my place to say but there are safer options if that’s what you crave, safer than say getting buildings collapsed on your head, multiple times.”

Harry couldn’t deal with the way Malfoy was so casually speaking about safe ways to get hurt, as if that was a normal thing a person does.

“What?” Malfoy asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice as if Harry was the weird one for staring quietly, scrambling to find a single thing to say to that. “I’m not judging you, Potter, to each their own kink. But seriously, if pain’s yours you don’t need to put your life on the line to get off.”

“I don’t have a pain kink,” he managed to get out.

“Fine. You just looked at the pain reliever like it had personally offended you. Maybe it did.”

Harry took the first dose and then cajoled Malfoy into playing chess with him for a bit while they waited for it to be time to take the second dose. Harry was growing sort of fond of losing to Malfoy; like he’d grown fond of losing to Teddy. It was entertaining to watch the cogs turn in their head while they planned his eventual demise. And Malfoy wasn’t a rotten win anymore, he was quite the gracious winner, thanking Harry for every game. Harry was so distracted by the game he barely noticed when Malfoy tried to sneak inside his mind.

“Very sneaky, Potter,” Malfoy told him, sounding almost impressed. Harry only caught on to what he was talking about when he correctly identified the one time he kissed Charlie Weasley, drunk on eggnog one Christmas, spurred by tales of dragons and a strategically placed sprig of mistletoe.

“The one time you kissed a Weasley that wasn’t Ginevra.” Draco shook his head chuckling “You let me assume it was Ronald that Weasley, very well done, I should have known better.” 

Harry knew he should count this as a failure, he hadn’t even felt Malfoy sneak past his defences and extract the information, but he couldn’t help the glowing smile under the sincere praise.

After one last sound victory on the duo-chromatic battlefield, Malfoy decreed it to be time to set the effect of the potion and Harry had had enough defeats for one day.

Harry watched Malfoy efficiently unwrap his bandages. The sight of the discoloured skin underneath was a bit unsettling, but the solid flesh was a comforting presence, a stark contrast with the sunken places below his shoulder. He reached out to touch the round muscle of his shoulder, covering it with his hand, feeling the warmth of it under his palm and taking a slow breath. Malfoy would give him back an arm. He could do it.

Harry glanced up at him and took his hand off, giving him a small nod to go ahead. Malfoy was mesmerising as always, the faint glow of his wand sending shifting shadows over his sharp features, making the cut of his cheekbones even more dramatic and the glint of his eyes more noticeable. Harry concentrated on the spot between those blond eyebrows and carefully pushed a tendril of his magic forward; if he focused on something outside of his body, he could almost ignore the pain. It seemed to grow duller and duller.

“I admire your commitment to your training and I wholeheartedly approve of your change in strategy but if I were you I wouldn’t,” Malfoy warned him, the quick flicks of his wand never stopping, he didn’t even meet Harry’s eyes.

“You’re just saying that because you know I’d win the round,” Harry argued.

“I’m running a very delicate set of spells on you right now; do you honestly want me distracted?” He countered.

Harry sighed and retracted. “I suppose not,” he relented.

“Good wandless casting, though,” Malfoy commented, performing the intricate flourish Harry had identified as the last figure of the incantation, then Malfoy would start again with the verbal part, the hard syllables falling from his lips smoothly and sending rending pain through Harry’s arms.

It seemed to take hours but by the end, Malfoy kept his promise and his cold palm cupped a brand new, fully formed, pointy elbow, carefully mobilizing the joint, while Harry downed his pain reliever. He barely felt the need to, the excitement of having the solid, heavy, warm presence of his arm next to him made him so giddy he could almost forget the pain shooting down both limbs… Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? I can do things that aren't that painful! don't get used to it.  
> I don't know when I'll be able to post the next chapter, I'm writing when I have time and I don't have a set schedule. Maybe the first week of november? Who knows!
> 
> Comments keep me motivated and focused, so you know what to do.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She lives to write once again, I am acutely aware of how late this is, but I hope the content will more than make up for it.  
> We're nearing the endzone and things will start to precipitate pretty quickly from now on.
> 
> As usual many many thanks to Jay for being a wonderful beta and the best partner in crime I could ask for.

Harry fell asleep quickly once the pain abated and floated into disjointed dreams.

 _He was walking aimlessly around the empty hospital, fear and frustration swirled in his mind as he paced, numbers and names racing each other as he tried desperately to make ends meet, but it was an impossible feat, he’d been reckless and the game had caught up with him. Eventually, he went home and fell asleep in his own bed for once._  

He woke up groggy, both his arms aching. 

Both. 

A grin bloomed on his face at the simple thought. Maybe Malfoy was right, maybe there was some pleasure to be taken from pain. He fought through the stiffness and reached over to prod at the new limb. It felt real. Well, it was real, even if it didn’t look the part quite yet, it wasn’t the right colour for him, it wasn’t the right colour for any human being to be entirely fair; it was a greying shade of light tan that didn’t look like it belonged on any living creature. Malfoy had promised it would go back to its original hue sooner or later, and the mark on his chest had faded considerably, so he wasn’t too worried about that.

What concerned him, now that he’d inspected the latest addition to his body, was a strong itch to take a walk. He’d been cooped up inside his room too long.

He was going to have breakfast and then take a walk, stretch his legs, maybe sit a while in the tiny lounge, find someone to play chess with that might actually let him win… Probably Paediatrics would be his safest bet for that. He chuckled at the thought, imagining what Malfoy would say about that.

Nurse Hanson wholeheartedly endorsed his plan and helped him put on a shirt, the buttons entirely outside the realm of his current abilities. She also produced a sling and helped him slide his arm into it, nodding at him in satisfaction.

“Off you go, Mr Potter, out on an adventure. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she added, holding the door open for him.

He didn’t have to go very far, he ran into Ron and Malfoy almost immediately, both in uniform and looking grim. Despite the context, a spark of excitement ignited deep in his chest, it looked like there was news on the case.

“‘Morning! You guys have news?” he asked approaching them.

The way both their heads snapped up was almost comical. They exchanged a look and then Ron sighed.

“The lead about the model’s dealer fell through.”

Harry grimaced, he’d hoped it would be good news, not another hole in the water.

“You look like you have some news,” Malfoy commented. “Finally feeling good enough to venture outside your room?” He gave Harry a small smile, he looked pleased with the development.

“I wasn’t in too much pain this morning and I was kind of bored of losing at chess,” he replied with an easy smile.

“Paediatrics is in the west wing,” Malfoy mentioned. 

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, he was getting predictable, or maybe Harry had been spending a little too much time inside Malfoy’s head and vice-versa.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry replied. “Are you staying a while?” he asked Ron.

“No, sorry, I’m on my way out, I have to drop these at the ministry.” Ron waved a notebook Harry knew to be full of interview notes, “but I’ll try to come back around lunch so we can chat.” He gave him a quick careful hug before heading out.

“How does the sling feel?” Malfoy asked, putting his hands in his pockets as they took a casual stroll through the busy halls up to the common room where a few more patients were playing cards or finishing breakfast.

“Odd,” Harry told him honestly. “But probably better than having my arm flop around,” he chuckled.

Malfoy nodded, “Be careful with it, your joints are very delicate right now,” he recommended, stopping at the door of the common room. “Keep the sling on and don’t do anything stupid. I’ll come check on you later.”

“I will do my very best,” Harry promised. He was too invested in his own recovery now to do something to jeopardise it. “Oh, and, Malfoy?” he called when the man turned around to leave.

“Mhm?”

“Daffodils!”

Malfoy glanced back at him with an expression of vague confusion.

“Your mother’s favourite flowers. They’re daffodils, aren’t they?” Harry elaborated. Malfoy smiled and shook his head.

“No, that’s just what my father used to bring her all the time,” he replied. “Nice try but you need to be more critical about the information you extract, especially if you make deductions based on circumstantial evidence. Better luck next time.”

Harry huffed, Malfoy had tricked him again, Harry’d fallen for his misdirection and ended right in the trap.

Malfoy was right about jumping to conclusions, Harry needed to be careful about his case, gather an overwhelming abundance of evidence to build a case that could withstand the closest scrutiny. He wanted it to be closed for good.

* * *

Draco woke up early that morning. He wanted to check on Potter before his rounds, see how the elbow was doing after a night of rest. He was constantly worried about going in one day and finding Potter had grown a new limb or turned neon pink. His response to treatment had been fairly predictable ever since he’d been fitted with the collar (and that image inspired a plethora of other thoughts Draco couldn’t afford to linger on) but it was always there at the back of his mind, the worry that something horrible might happen as soon as he turned his back. Potter did have that tendency after all. He had documented evidence of it now. Extensive documented evidence, with multiple witnesses. Him being intimately connected with a person in a criminal organization didn’t make it easier for Draco to rationalize his worries away.

Soup was merciful enough to allow him two fully caffeinated cups of coffee before sending him on his way.

He got to the hospital with a clear plan and he got there early for his shift, early enough to get his plan derailed by Brown coming to him begging for help with an issue with the Potions lab. Apparently, there wasn’t enough stock of what her supervisor needed for the day’s procedures and she didn’t know how to fix it.

“I’ll go take a look,” Draco sighed, plucking the list from her hand and heading down the hall at a fast clip. He’d been looking for an excuse to poke around the Potions lab anyway. 

“You worry about preparing for the procedure with Ross.” He waved away her relieved thank you. 

There was a niggling sensation in the back of his head telling him something was wrong, and he couldn’t put his finger on it, which only made it more annoying. He read through the list while he rode the elevator down. It was standard stock, almost nothing tailor-made, he should have asked what the procedure was exactly. Either way, there was no conceivable way the hospital could have run out of stock for all the brews marked missing. Sure, they had a few more poisonings than usual but nothing catastrophic enough to warrant this level of stock depletion.

“How can I help you?” 

Draco looked up and frowned at McReary’s smiling face at the window. For some reason, he was convinced Murphy would be in. He shrugged, McReary was better. He was fresh out of training, eager to please, still not used to being a full-fledged healer, easy to manipulate.

“I hear we’re short stocked,” Draco mentioned casually. “I’ve got a list here from Andrews, mind if I take a look and see what I can substitute?” he asked, the lie falling easily from his lips, smooth and casual enough not to be questioned. Dropping Andrews’ name instead of Ross’ upped the stakes just enough for the boy to feel the pressure.

“Ah… I shouldn’t let you back here...” McReary hesitated. 

Of course, everyone knew not to let the Death Eater near the poisons, Merlin knew what he might do that he couldn’t do with scalpels or a wand, what terrible damage he could wreak if he got his hands on pain relievers or blood replenishers.

Malfoy hummed, slipping the list in his pocket. “You’re right, you shouldn’t, I’m sure you have everything Andrews needs,” he replied, leaning closer to the window and rattling off a few potions from the list and a few he suspected would be missing from stock. McReary’s cheerful smile slowly twisted in a grimace.

“I have maybe two of those...” He rubbed the back of his neck, tugging at the collar of his robes as he glanced back at the cabinets lining the walls.

“Well, I’m certain Andrews will understand that the department can’t always keep up with demands,” he commented casually, watching the poor boy start to sweat under the pressure. He would almost feel bad for it if it wasn’t so damn thrilling to watch him break. And he needed him to break, this wasn’t for fun, after all. He needed inside that room.

“Alright, I’ll let you back to look for what you need, but you can’t tell anyone,” McReary cracked, opening the side door for him. Draco smiled brightly at him.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he promised.

Taking stock of what was missing wasn’t hard and each empty drawer made another piece click into place until a chilling realization filled him.

“Say, McReary, is there any chance I could take a peek at the logbooks to know when the next shipping of ingredients comes in?” he asked, as polite and agreeable he could manage, unthreatening as he could ever be.

“Uhm...” McReary gave him a hesitant look and for a moment Draco thought he was going to say no, it was a strange request, after all, and he was pushing his luck. “It’s on the table but Murphy’s out talking with our suppliers to see if we can get some extra to cover the emergencies.”

Of course, Murphy would be out, and Draco seriously doubted he was actually dealing with the emergency. Draco flipped the book open and slowly slid his finger down the column of ingredients, checking the regular shipments and the amounts, nothing out of the ordinary… except they couldn’t possibly be accurate, there was too much coming in and no stock to show for it. Even imagining that the department was in the hands of a moron who couldn’t tell his hands from his arse and was a wasteful brewer (which Draco was convinced to be the case ever since Andrews handed over the reins to Murphy) it still wouldn’t explain the inconsistencies. His finger stopped at _Lily C._ and that’s when he knew he’d severely misjudged Murphy. He flipped the book closed and quickly gathered all that Brown needed for her procedure with Ross, making the appropriate substitutions when he couldn’t get the desired brew. They’d have to strike a careful balance, but it would be a good learning experience, for Brown at least.

“Thank you very much, McReary.” Draco smiled. “I was never here,” he added with a wink, closing the door behind himself, his blood running cold as he walked away from the lab. 

He needed to talk with Weasley sooner than immediately.

He dropped the potions at the nurses’ station and had Brown called to pick them up. That’s when he saw him, redhead, rumpled uniform, like the universe was finally giving him a boon. Weasley was walking towards him.

“Weasley, I have—”

“Oi, Malfoy, we need to talk.”

“Good, we’re on the same page,” Draco gave him a tight smile and gestured for him to follow. He found a mostly empty corridor and discreetly threw up some privacy charms around them.

“It’s someone inside the hospital,” Draco said without preamble as soon as he was sure no one could overhear.

“What?”

“Your operation, Weasley, keep up. It’s being run from inside the hospital, at least in part,” Draco elaborated, annoyed that Weasley wasn’t following.

“I know that,” Weasley replied slowly, making Draco stop in his tracks. “How do _you_ know that?” Weasleyhe asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I just got a peek at our books and potion stock, they don’t add up, haven’t for four months, and not even Murphy is that much of an idiot. Apparently, he’s not an idiot at all since he’s been running an illegal potions ring right under our noses.” 

How did Draco miss that? Oh yeah, he was banned from the potions cabinet like a toddler. “How did _you_ know?” he asked. The actual question Draco wanted to ask was why in the name of all that is good and sacred didn’t he tell him he was working in the lion’s den, but he bit his tongue and held back.

“I realized as a research facility St. Mungo’s has permission to handle restricted substances and followed up on it very discreetly. Looks like you’re cultivating Cobra Lily, a little too convenient of a coincidence since there is no research project approved on it,” Ron explained. “I thought I had checked out all the greenhouses that were handling it; this one almost slipped through, I only caught up to it this yesterday.”

Draco had to admit he was slightly impressed. “What now?” he asked.

“For starters, I’m getting Harry away from here,” Weasley told him.

“You can’t,” Draco’s voice was firm, but Weasley still thought it was an opening for debate.

“I’m not leaving him here, Malfoy, in the hands of the people that almost killed him and will happily try again.”

Draco grimaced, knowing Weasley’s concerns were founded, but he still couldn’t let it happen. “He’s not ready yet and he’s my patient, he’s at a delicate stage right now and I can’t interrupt the treatment.”

“Malfoy, listen to me, he’s actively in danger, you’re giving him potions brewed by the people we’re trying to put away. How long do you think he’s going to last once they find out how much he knows?”

Draco ran a hand through his hair taking a slow breath. “I’m telling you transferring him suddenly apropos nothing just after they get a little exposed is going to raise concerns. We have to assume they know nothing so far; I’ve been very careful with him and he’s getting better at Occlumency. Besides they wouldn’t want to kill him in the hospital and show their hand. They probably don’t want to kill him at all if they think they can use him for information on the case,” he tried to reason. 

“Probably? That’s not very comforting,” Weasley argued.

“He’s safest in my hands. I know you don’t like it but handing him over to another Healer is just as dangerous as keeping him here, if not more. His treatment is a constant balancing act and his reactions tend to be erratic.”

“I’m sure you have extensive notes on it you could pass along to whoever would take over his care.”

“Potter lies!” Draco snapped. “You know it, I know it. Do you think you can find another Healer with the specific competence and willingness to call out the Saviour of the Fucking World on his bullshit? Someone who’s going to put his recovery ahead of his momentary happiness or that wouldn’t be tempted to just try to make him like them? Because I’m not convinced there’s an abundance of those in London.” He stopped and sighed, looking Weasley in the eyes, feeling his heart beating fast in his chest, the silence stretching between them for a long second. “I won’t let any harm come to him, I’ll brew his potions myself if need be,” Draco insisted. He needed Weasley to understand that moving Harry was a step in the wrong direction, that he would keep him safe no matter the cost. The fight seemed to leave Weasley’s shoulders, but he still argued, trying to poke holes in his plan.

“You can’t. You don’t have access to the potions lab here, which is how we find ourselves in this situation,” Weasley pointed out, more tired than anything else, the worry in his blue eyes painfully clear. It wasn’t lost on Draco how Weasley was implying that if he’d had access to the lab, they wouldn’t have illegal activities being run there. He wanted to linger on that unspoken trust and let it warm him through, but there was something more urgent to focus on.

“I never said I’d do it here. You get me the ingredients, I’ll do my brewing at home. Say that after our latest mishap the Ministry is supplying the potions to treat their own. Wouldn’t even be that big of a lie.”

Weasley narrowed his eyes at him, at the ease with which he came up with the plan and pushed him to lie again. He could tell he wanted to argue more but Potter’s voice cut through.

“Morning, you guys have news?” 

Trust him to just casually cut through Draco’s privacy charms. Looked like their discussion was tabled for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely give up on trying to predict a schedule. Chapters will come as the Lord sends them, trust that the fic is not abandoned and it will get finished, probably not in a timely manner but the goal is to finish this before graduation.
> 
> Share your love in the comments, it keeps me going and I love hearing your thoughts on this beautiful trainwreck


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some more heartbreak, my early Christmas gift for you.
> 
> Remember when back in chapter nine I told you the worst of the angst was over? Apparently I lied.
> 
> As usual [Jay](https://ana-iliad.tumblr.com/) is the woman who brings the magic, the grammar and the punctuation to this story.

“I hate it, Blaise,” Draco sighed rubbing his eyes. 

Blaise hummed softly, running his fingers through Draco’s hair, trying not to smile at how he was dramatically sprawled over his couch. It was unfair, that’s what it was; Blaise was the one entitled to dramatics and theatricals, specifically of the “missing my wife” variety, when the girls were on the continent on tour, and yet, he had a lapful of Malfoy.

“I hate lying to his face, the deceit, the—” he kicked his foot over the armrest of Blaise’s couch, settling his head better in his lap. “The performance of it all.”

“Since when do you hate putting up a performance?” Blaise asked, twisting Draco’s hair around his fingers, the smallest hint of teasing in his voice as he looked down at him.

“Since he didn’t agree to play this game with me. Since I asked him to be honest, and he is, and he thinks I’m doing the same but I’m not. I’m serious Blaise, please, I feel like I’m fucking up and I’m bringing Weasley down with me.” 

Draco’s right hand was absently rubbing his chest, a comforting gesture Blaise had watched him pick up soon after he got the tattoo. Blaise thought he’d never have to see that kind of uncertainty in Draco’s eyes, certainly not over Potter.

“Why are you lying to him, Draco?” He asked patiently, preparing to argue Draco into settling down. Draco used to say he lawyered his anxiety away, used to tease him for how easily he slipped into cross interrogation techniques.

“Because it’s the only way I know to protect him from himself,” Draco sighed.

“And?” He gently prodded, his fingers sliding easily through Draco’s blond hair, fanning the locks out over his dark trousers.

“Weasley agrees with me that keeping him as far from the actual case as we can is the best course of action to protect him and close the case,” Draco repeated what he’d told him back when the decision was made. 

“Do you think any of those two things have changed since you two took that decision?” Blaise continued stroking Draco’s hair.

 Draco closed  his eyes and gave a small shake of his head, “No.”

Blaise hummed, letting the silence stretch between them for a long moment, giving Draco time to settle the dissonance between what he was feeling and the facts that Blaise had him speak out loud. 

“No. The danger is as close to him as humanly possible and he’s actively seeking it out.”

“What about your training in Occlumency, is he good enough to hold secrets?” Blaise nudged his forehead to bring his attention back to them and not the danger looming over Potter.

“Merlin, he gets better every day, I think not even I learned at that rate.” The pride in Draco’s voice wasn’t lost to Blaise, nor was the mild annoyance at Potter’s ridiculous abilities. “But he’s barely got two months of training, Blaise, and Weasley is this close to closing a case spanning decades, bringing down an organization that’s been poisoning who knows how many people.” Draco threw his arms up, his voice pitched high. He knew it was the right course of action, Draco was a strategist, a planner, and he knew how to tell priorities… except when it came to Potter. His restlessness gave him away easily.

“But you’re afraid Potter’s not going to see it that way.” It wasn’t a question “You’re afraid he’s not going to forgive you once he finds out.” 

Draco never did things halfway, Blaise had known it for a long time, and when he started getting attached to Potter again, he knew he was going to go in deep without coming up for air. Draco didn’t fall just a little bit in love, he gave everything until there was nothing left to give. Not many people could handle that kind of thing, there weren’t many people Draco allowed the privilege to try, especially after Astoria.

“No.”

“No?” Blaise’s hand stopped in his hair for a moment and Draco craned his neck to look up at him.

“I’m not afraid of him not forgiving me, Blaise, I know he won’t. He shouldn’t. I wouldn’t.” The cold measured way the words fell from Draco’s lips were a very well-crafted shield for the storm tearing him apart behind clear eyes. Blaise knew when Draco became so detached, it was usually two steps away from breaking, one way or another.

“That’s a lie,” Blaise tutted “you would forgive him literal murder. In fact, you have. And when has Potter ever been known for doing what he should?” he asked with a small chuckle.

Draco couldn’t help the weak chuckle at that; he pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, thinking of the near heart attack Potter gave him when he decided it would be a good idea to leave the hospital to have dinner at the Weasleys’.

“What was it he did last time?” At this point, Blaise was just having fun at Draco’s expense, giving him a moment of breath, a distraction.

“He attended Mrs Weasley’s birthday,” Draco replied, his voice dripping with disbelief. “He couldn’t be dissuaded, he had to go to dinner at the Burrow, and he insisted on stopping by Godric’s Hollow on the way back to visit his parents because it was the eve of the anniversary!”

“Ah, yes, that was why you missed the girls’ early Halloween party, you were busy at a birthday,” Blaise hummed.

“I was doing damage control while Potter did his very best to nullify all of our progress. He Apparated us, Blaise! His hand is missing and he side-alonged me because apparently, no other mode of transportation was suitable for him!” Draco’s voice was reaching a bafflingly high pitch by the end of that sentence.

“Yes, I seem to remember you mentioning it a couple of times when you got back.”

Draco glared at him, “I hate you.”

“You really don’t, you love me. I’m the one brother you got,” Blaise replied with a fond smile, braiding a piece of Draco’s hair.

“Yeah, you’re lucky I do,” Draco grumbled, settling a little into the couch.

“Are you coming to Sadistique this weekend?” Blaise asked after a while. He let Draco mull over their conversation for a bit before moving on to lighter topics.

“No, I have to brew Potter’s next batch of potions and I have an early shift on Monday. Aadhya can’t be there and I don’t know who else can be trusted at the hospital,” he sighed.

“What does Soup think about that?”

Draco gave a short snort of laughter. “He thinks I work too much.”

“He’s not wrong, you know?” he told him softly. He knew it would fall to deaf ears, but he had to hope one day or the other Draco would be ready to listen.

“He rarely is, but it’s only for a while. Weasley says he’s getting close, once Potter’s out of danger I’ll go back to what I was doing before.”

“Which was still excessive,” Blaise reminded him.

Draco shrugged.

“Draco, look at me,” Blaise told him. “What’s the goal here? What is it that you want?” he asked softly, resting a hand over his heart, searching his eyes for an answer.

“I want him to be safe, Blaise,” Draco sighed, the words spilling out of his lips in a rush, as if he might lose the resolve to say them out loud if he didn’t say them fast enough. “And I want justice for Kore.” He still said her name like a prayer, it wasn’t by mistake that he called her with the name of a goddess, arguably the most powerful of them all.

“Draco, Astoria is at peace, even if you bring down the entire organisation she’s not coming back. And Potter...” Blaise blew out a breath “As soon as he’s out of your hands he’s going right back to stepping in front of curses. Is this really worth killing yourself over?”

Draco averted his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek, and Blaise knew he’d hit dead centre.

“I just want to make things better,” Draco whispered, his voice raw with the effort not to let go, his eyes getting watery as he tried desperately not to cry in front of the enormity of that task, one he could never measure up to.

“I know,” Blaise murmured, pulling him up, letting him cling to him and hide his face in his neck as the first sobs wracked him. “I know you do, and you are, Draco, but you’re entitled to happiness too.”

“Am I, though? Because the way he looks at me, Blaise, the fucking trust in his eyes while I lie...” Draco’s voice cracked. “I want to be the man he thinks I am, but I can’t.”

Blaise slowly ran his hand down Draco’s spine. “Draco, Potter knows perfectly well what kind of man you actually are. I don’t think he has any illusions about you, he’s seen the good and the bad and he still wants to trust you, after witnessing you at your worst. And he’s right to do so because you _are_ acting in his best interest, even if he won’t like it when he finds out. You have to trust he’s grown up enough to deal with complicated feelings in an adult way.”

Where was Pansy when he needed her? Living fancy and seducing French models, leaving him and Soup to keep this vaguely Draco-shaped mess together while he did his best to self-destruct.

Blaise would have never imagined that, after resolving to take the dark mark at sixteen, Draco would ever be in this kind of position again, fighting his every self-preservation instinct to protect someone else, falling apart in his arms. Being charged with the responsibility of Potter’s continued wellbeing was going to destroy Draco and Blaise wondered whether he could rise from the ashes again after it happened.

* * *

Harry watched summer turn into fall and then edge into winter, the leaves turn different shades of red and orange and fall down on his windowsill, leaving the trees bare.

His progress was tangible, literally. He spent a lot of time poking his new arm, which was starting to look remarkably like the old one. Where there used to be a gash on his chest, now only a faded discoloured patch was left. Harry could barely see it most days. But most importantly, he didn’t feel like he would split open every time he sneezed; he wasn’t afraid of breathing too deeply.

Malfoy looked constantly overworked but Harry couldn’t bring himself to point it out, not when he was so close to having his entire limb back. He’d worry about the bags under Malfoy’s eyes once he had five new functioning fingers.

The case seemed to have come to a standstill recently, every lead he managed to unearth through dreams or very careful, very discreet digging through the bond seemed to fall through after a while, which would normally frustrate Harry to the point of breaking something, but, but, but! 

Malfoy had finally agreed to bring in a physical therapist to get him started while they took a break from reconstruction before tackling his hand. He was still aching every day, probably worse than before, but it was the deep muscle ache that came from actually exercising. It was good pain. And Harry knew that as soon as he was out investigating with Ron they would get to the bottom of the case in no time.

He did end up visiting Paediatrics once or twice and, much to everyone’s delight, he lost a few more games of chess, not all of them on purpose.

At some point, Harry decided to let the beard grow. It was around the third time Malfoy bullied him into shaving because he was, once again, starting to look like a mountain man in the least complimentary way possible. The words “sad Hagrid” were used.

The confidence with which Malfoy stepped into his personal space, the firm and sure way his cold hands manipulated his face, the smooth slide of light fingers on his neck made him almost wish that pale hand closed around it, pressing until it was hard to breathe, upping the sense of danger already coursing through Harry’s veins with every touch of the blade. Harry found himself instinctively baring his neck for Malfoy more than once. 

Malfoy hadn’t nicked him once so far, and Harry was sure he wouldn’t. But he could. He could do anything he wanted, and he was giving Harry a thorough shave, telling him in a low soothing voice how Pansy and Daphne were about to leave for France and then Milan to showcase Pansy’s new collection. He caught some mention of Blaise missing his wife terribly and becoming mopey and needy and clingy whenever they left… There was an unexpected fondness in Malfoy’s tone, but Harry was too busy ignoring his embarrassing erection to pay too much attention to the finer details.

“You’re thinking very loudly, Potter,” Malfoy hummed, wiping the excess soap from his face and applying aftershave.

That was the moment Harry decided to try and keep the shaving to a minimum until he could do it himself. He would miss having Malfoy’s hands on him, but it was for the best of the community at large and the maintaining of whatever shred of professionalism he could cling to at that point. 

The plan to keep things professional backfired when he set his mind on attending Mrs Weasley birthday dinner at the Burrow. Malfoy, after expressing vehemently his displeasure and his firm medical advice that he reconsider, decided to tag along to _Ensure you have help available when things inevitably go wrong_.

Things were a lot less tense and awkward than Harry expected them to be. Malfoy and Hermione were apparently on a first name basis now, and Mrs Weasley was dangerously close to adopting him judging by the amount of food she piled on his plate, commenting on how skinny he was. When did that happen? Yeah, sure, maybe Malfoy was a bit too skinny and the shadows under his eyes were very clear, but it was just because he was so ridiculously pale… And Molly wasn’t supposed to care. Surely, she had reached her maximum children capacity, she had to save space for the existing ones’ future partners, how could she budget in another?

The Weasley siblings, at least, seemed just as baffled as he was about the new developments. Everyone except for Ron, who all of a sudden seemed awfully chummy with Malfoy, talking in hushed tones in the corner, over mulled wine. Ginny was the first to come around when Malfoy mentioned Teddy making the team thanks to her training. From then on, he charmed the entire family in the span of one night, leaving Harry full of conflicting feelings of jealousy and warm sweet aching as he nursed the one glass of spiced wine he’d been allowed to drink. It was enough to make him a bit tipsy, mixed with the multitude of potions working in his body. He was sulking on the armchair near the fire, watching Percy discuss animatedly some ministerial policy or other with Malfoy on the couch when Charlie came around and leaned against the back, seamlessly joining the discussion, giving Malfoy that dashing smile of his. That was when Harry realized what was going on, what that twist in his guts was, the same he’d felt seeing Teddy launch himself into his arms. He was jealous, he was jealous and yet he didn’t want it to stop. He wanted to see more of Malfoy in soft sweaters sitting on the couch at the Burrow debating Percy. He liked the warm ache that filled his chest as he laughed with Ginny about the outrageous rumours spread by the press. He wanted more of it, he wanted it not to stop. He wanted Malfoy in his life, warm and at ease like Harry had seen him be in long-gone memories.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he came to that decision, but as soon as they said their goodbyes and walked out, Harry apparated them to Godric’s Hollow. It was another year that he was growing older than his parents ever got to be, another year closer to surpassing Sirius too, he couldn’t just not come visit them. And after the world-shifting realization, he just needed to see his parents. Malfoy stopped complaining about the dangers of Apparating when they reached the cemetery, and Harry was grateful for the gentle pressure of a hand around his arm as they stood silently in front of the grave. He never could find the right words when the anniversary came, and for once Malfoy didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. It felt like he understood what the moment was about, and a part of Harry wished he didn’t when he knew what the price of that understanding was.

After that night he managed to go a full two weeks without doing anything stupid. He kept up with his Occlumency training with Malfoy, he very carefully explored the extent of his bond with the man on the other side, he relayed his dreams to Ron twice a week, slipping in whatever extra information he dug up through the bond, and obeyed Paul’s every order when it came to his physical therapy.

Then Malfoy came in one day with a tray of potions announcing he was good for another round; they’d get the wrist done and see how he settled before making a plan to go forward.

It might have been the potion, the pain, the intoxicating touch of Malfoy’s hands or the hypnotizing lilt of his voice repeating sharp syllables over and over obfuscating Harry’s better judgment, and in all honesty it was a bit Malfoy’s fault as well for demanding he keep talking because Harry found himself saying whatever came to mind.

Malfoy’s hand moved quickly, spinning his wand in tight circles around his wrist, if he concentrated, he could feel his magic imbue his blood.

_charáxte to kréas_

_na enchýsei aíma_

_dóste zoí píso_

_prostasía_

“Malfoy?” he called softly, watching his slender wrist bend and flick his wand in a flourish that by now was intimately familiar.

“Hm?” Malfoy hummed vaguely in acknowledgement but didn’t tear his eyes away from his work. He never did. 

“Go out with me.” Harry hadn’t been sure what he was about to say until it was out of his mouth and by then it was too late to take it back. He expected the silence to stretch tense and awkward between them for time infinite but instead, Malfoy’s answer came quick and unforgiving.

“No.” It was a simple statement, and still, Malfoy wouldn’t meet his eyes, as if it was just ordinary small talk.

“Ok…” Harry replied just as easily. He was starting to learn this dance with Malfoy, about him setting up clear boundaries. Malfoy would say no, Harry would take a step back and then Malfoy would take a step closer. This time though Harry didn’t have the patience to wait “Why?” he asked softly, he knew he couldn’t push Malfoy on it, but he’d never denied Harry explanations, and Harry needed one of those now.

“For starters, you’re not going out yourself, with or without me.” By now Harry knew to recognize a deflection.

“You know what I mean, the truth?”

“I’m your Healer,” he said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world as he kept working.

“So?”

“It’s inappropriate,” Malfoy sighed.

“Since when do you care about appropriate?” There was something off about the way Malfoy was talking, paying only half attention to the conversation. It wasn’t right, but his mind was locked down tight and Harry couldn’t get anything from him.

“I’ve always cared about appropriate,” Malfoy argued, a slight twitch of his lip gave Harry a spark of hope, he was playing, wasn’t he? Harry just needed to figure out the rules.

“Only when it suits you.”

“What makes you think it doesn’t right now?” Malfoy countered, gently squeezing his arm to test the growth of muscle under the frail skin.

“Does it?” Harry asked, uncertainty bleeding into his voice. Had he read everything wrong? Malfoy glanced up at him, his fingers loose around Harry’s wrist, his eyes pained as he met Harry’s.

“No, it doesn’t,” he admitted.

“Then?” It came out in a rushed breath, the question suspended in the air between them until Malfoy averted his eyes again.

“It’s still no.” The words were final, but the tone defeated.

“But you want to,” Harry insisted. 

“That’s irrelevant,” Malfoy brushed the argument away.

“It’s relevant to me.” It was the _most_ relevant part.

“Fine, I’m not averse to the idea but you’re not worth putting my career on the line over.” And wasn’t that a bald-faced lie. Why was Malfoy lying to him?

“What about when you’re not my healer anymore?”

“You will have to ask me again then, won’t you? And maybe do it properly,” There was the tiniest hint of a smile on Malfoy’s face as he started the spell again and all Harry could do was grit his teeth against the pain.

“You could start by formulating it as a question instead of an order, assuming I’ll just do whatever you please,” Malfoy mentioned casually.

“Fair, anything else?” Harry asked once the pain subsided, pushed aside by a different warmth filling his chest as he gasped for air.

“You could dress the part. Hospital gowns don’t do anyone any favours.”

“M-hm, true,” Harry agreed with a short nod.

“Not being bonded to someone else might also entice a positive response,” Malfoy mentioned, and at that point, he was openly teasing.

“That one you’ll have to figure out for yourself,” Harry replied with a grin.

“That I do,” he agreed.

* * *

Draco left Harry’s room after giving him his pain relievers, with death in his heart, about ready to get into a bottle of Firewhiskey. Of course, Potter would serve himself up on a silver platter right when it would be immoral for Draco to reach out and take him, and when it would stop being against any and all ethical and deontological rule in the book, he was still lying to Potter on a daily basis, gaslighting him. That wasn’t the best basis for any healthy relationship. He knew by the time Potter would be discharged he’d hate Draco enough to want to kill him, let alone date him. He couldn’t put words to the twist in his guts as he thought about those bright green eyes on him, clear and open and vulnerable.

Potter begged for the truth and Draco had to keep lying. 

“Hey, Draco!”

He turned around to find Hermione coming out of the elevator.

“Hermione, what can I do for you?” It was still odd to call her by her first name, but she’d insisted. Granger felt far more natural on his tongue.

“I was on my way home and I thought I’d swing by. How’s Harry?” she asked, loosening the big scarf around her neck and unbuttoning her coat.

“I just finished working on his wrist and gave him some pain reliever. You can go in if you want, the entertainment value is pretty high, but he’ll probably fall asleep soon,” he replied with a tight smile.

“Oh, well, maybe I’ll come around another time… Are _you_ ok?” she asked, giving him a slightly concerned look.

“I… ah… yes?”

“Was that a question?”

Draco sighed, dropping the pretence “No, I’m not ok. He asked me out,” he told her.

“Never thought he’d actually come around to doing that, but he has real crap timing, as usual,” she commented.

“You’re not surprised,” Draco noticed.

“Oh, come on, you can’t be all that surprised either.”

“I guess I’m not.” Draco couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen what he had inside Potter’s mind, or how he looked at him. “Can I offer you some tea?”

Hermione nodded and followed him to the break room.

“Was it before or after the painkillers?” she asked as he put the kettle on. “Because he might not remember it in the morning.”

“It was before, right as I was working. In his defence, it was done under torture, you know intense physical pain, one does and says stupid things...”

Hermione hummed, “Always pegged Harry for a bit of a masochist,” she commented. Draco couldn’t disagree, but there was no way to politely agree with a statement like that.

“What did you answer?” Hermione asked once he put a steaming cup of tea in front of her.

“I said no, of course.”

Hermione nodded, “Yes, I imagine dating a patient wouldn’t do much good with your standing with the disciplinary committee,” she agreed.

“That and the fact that your husband and I are constantly lying to him. Feels like a less than ideal way to start a relationship. Make it illegal and base it on lies.”

Hermione chuckled, “That’s fair, but that’s what you want? A relationship with him?”

“Salazar help me, I really do,” Draco sighed, taking a small sip of his tea, the warmth of it seeping into his hands as he cradled the cup.

“Then trust that things will work themselves out when the moment comes. Harry could do a lot worse than you. Isn’t it every mother’s dream? Your child to get hitched to a doctor?”

Draco gave her a weak smile, wishing he had her same Gryffindor borderline foolish optimism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you expect Harry to be the one to make the move?  
> And how long before Draco breaks irreparably?
> 
> leave some love in the comments, I feed on your feelings.
> 
> Next up: some more plot and then Christmas.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my early Christmas gift for you, I know you've been waiting for this for a loooong time.
> 
> As usual [Jay](https://ana-iliad.tumblr.com/) is the one that took the time to polish my draft into a presentable finished product.

November dragged along slowly with plenty of rain and cold wind chilling Draco’s bones to the core. Potter’s recovery was progressing slower than Draco had hoped; him having to do all the brewing himself hindered progress a lot more than it would have if Draco didn’t have trainee duties to keep up with on top of that.

Potter was starting to get frustrated with Paul because, as expected, he didn’t get completely better instantly, but Draco was reasonably confident Paul could handle himself. For once Potter’s response to treatment was entirely ordinary, frustrated patients were a physical therapist’s bread and butter. People expected physical therapists to just snap their fingers and give them back mobility and control or make the pain disappear but there was no magic in the world like hard work and perseverance. A hard lesson every patient had to learn one way or another.

Draco knew Potter’s frustration was in part his fault, he’d avoided him as much as conceivably possible while still treating him and keeping up with their training. It wasn’t much avoidance at all, all things considered, but enough for Potter to take notice and grow understandably frustrated with it.

Draco felt like he was dropping the Quaffle in a major way, he was fraying at the edges. Potter was asking more than he could give and so was everything else in his life. 

After the little mishap with the Potions lab, the hospital’s day to day went back to normal. The stock was replenished, and the operations got back on track as if nothing happened. Except Weasley was surveilling all the healers involved. He had the perfect excuse to hang around the halls in person and Draco knew he’d planted surveillance spells in strategic spots around the hospital, he’d done a few himself after Weasley had asked him to cover staff rooms and other spaced Weasley had no reasonable excuse to access.

A week after the fact Draco had told Weasley to stop updating him. He couldn’t have all that information.

“Malfoy, if you’re going to keep my best friend alive in here, I’m going to make sure you’re working with the full picture,” Weasley had argued over the chessboard. The common room was empty that late at night and Potter had crashed after his session with Paul, asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

“No, Weasley,  _ you  _ need to work with the full picture. You’re the one who’s going to solve this case. I only need what’s strictly necessary to ensure Potter’s safety. The more you tell me the more I have to hide from him, the easier he’ll catch on and Salazar knows what will happen then. Have you forgotten he’s inside my head on the regular?”

From then on, the amount of information Draco was privy to dropped considerably and he almost regretted asking it of Weasley every time he saw him around the halls in his civvies, walking with Potter down to Paediatrics to entertain the children, or hanging out in the common room with the other patients. He only knew what the press got a hold of, and even then, he didn’t know what he could trust and what he couldn’t. He just had to hope Weasley knew what he was doing, which surprisingly, he did. He wasn’t sure when the switch happened, but he trusted the redhead to do his job competently and keep him, as well as Potter, completely safe.

* * *

November rolled into December and with it came Pansy’s planning for her Christmas gala, which she decided to host at the Manor to celebrate Mother’s 57th birthday. Getting the proper permits from the Ministry was a nightmare that occupied most of Blaise’s spare time as well as a good chunk of his office hours. Which in turn made Draco less inclined to burden him with his latest conundrum about Potter, since he was doing his best to give his mother the Christmas and birthday she deserved.

Working on Potter’s fingers was terrifying. The complexity of a hand was unfathomable compared to the arm, and Potter was impatient, insisting they push further and faster than any healer worth their salt would advise. It took Draco and Aadhya’s combined effort to get him to back down and resign himself to the schedule. 

Potter was distracting, constantly flirting subtly enough that Draco couldn’t call him out on it. Draco could feel those green eyes on him constantly, Potter didn’t even have to speak to pull his attention, and that was a very dangerous game to play. Had Draco been a better man he would have let Aadhya take over. 

But Draco wasn’t.

He was holding together by a thread as he worked on the minutiae and the painstaking detail that went into making a human hand, the hand of a dueller and a seeker, the man who’d saved the world. Draco was familiar with Potter’s hands; they weren’t the same - mirror copies one of the other - they didn’t share the same scars, the same stories. He couldn’t just follow the template, he needed to colour outside the lines and do it from memory. He got lost in the detail work of building a new left hand for Potter, the tweaking of Greek formulas so he could give back everything as it was. He spent nights sketching those hands while the potions decanted, collecting the innumerable pictures that circulated of him, comparing them to his memories until he was sure he knew Potter’s hand as intimately as his own.

Draco drew the original scars, built the slightly crooked finger he developed from his weird grip on a broom handle, moulded the shape of his knuckles and painted the slight dusting of freckles so stark against the jarring white of the new skin. Draco knew they would become barely visible once the hand had become the right colour, a warm and vibrant brown instead of ashen cadaveric white. It would be the same hand that held Potter steady on a broom as he invariably beat Draco to the snitch, with the same burn marks from his sloppy potion work, the same horrifying  _ I must not tell lies  _ that stretched faintly from wrist to knuckle. He didn’t take anything away as far as he could manage, working not to erase any part of Potter’s history. Just like he’d left the snake bite mark on his forearm he etched all the painful marks on Potter’s skin. It was something Potter had survived; it had shaped him, Draco had no right to change that if he could avoid it.

It took two entire weeks to shape each finger individually and by the time Draco finished, he was drained, physically, mentally, magically and emotionally. Potter wasn’t doing much better, sweat beading his forehead, plastering his hair to it. His jaw clicked as he stopped gritting his teeth once Draco finished the spell and the acute pain started to dull a little bit, it would fade as soon as Potter took his pain reliever, but first there was something else Draco needed to do.

He set the wand down on the rolling tray and went to sit on the bed, taking Potter’s hand in his lap. This was the moment of truth. He carefully turned it between his own, feeling the weight of it, the warmth gradually spreading through it as circulation was restored, sluggishly pumping blood back into the new vessels, working against the lingering protective charms. He dragged the tip of his nail down the palm of Potter’s hand to test his reflexes.

When he witnessed the first twitch of a finger, a smile stretched his lips, growing bigger every subsequent movement. It seemed impossible, a small miracle every time the nerve endings reacted perfectly. He felt as if with every minuscule quickening of Potter’s nerves, a little bit of the pressure on Draco’s lungs released and he started breathing again after months under water. He carefully bent each finger down to touch the palm and then looked up at Potter’s face, still cradling his hand like it was made of glass. He found Potter’s eyes fixed on him, just as watery as his own felt.

“Can you make a fist?” Draco asked him in a whisper, almost afraid that if he spoke too loudly the illusion would shatter and the solid flesh he was holding would evaporate.

Potter gave him a wobbly smile. 

“I thought you wanted to wait until I asked you out properly. Shouldn’t I take you out to dinner before you asked that?” The joke was awful and the delivery even worse with his voice cracking in the middle.

“Shut up and clench, Potter,” Draco replied with a weak chuckle.

“So bossy...” Potter raised a shaky hand up to his face so he could take a good look at it.  Draco dropped his hands in his lap, watching Potter examine his new hand and struggle to make the muscles work. He grimaced pushing through the pain and effort but he managed to gather his fingers in a loose fist before dropping the arm next to him with a grunt, already searching Draco’s eyes for a sign of approval.

“That’s perfect, Potter,” he told him, the smile on his face so wide Potter immediately mirrored it. Draco could feel the tears threatening to fall at the wave of exhausted elation that filled his chest at the sight. He’d done it. He’d regrown the entire arm and each finger, a full functioning limb, he’d made Potter whole again. The relief that flooded him was so violent he almost fell off the bed. He’d done the impossible, and soon Potter would be able to leave the hospital and be safe. He’d kept his promise. 

Now he could crumble.

He looked down when he felt something touch his sleeve, Potter was already trying to put his hand to work, struggling to get a good grip on his uniform. He managed to slip a finger under the cuff, hooking it to the strap of Draco’s wand holster, tugging gently until Draco turned towards him fully. The next thing he knew was Potter’s right hand, rough and warm, cupping his neck and slowly pulling him in. Draco didn’t fight it, he couldn’t when Potter was looking at him with those damned green eyes full of overwhelmed gratitude, pushing through the pain to pull him closer. Draco’s eyes darted to his lips, parted and inviting as Potter tilted his chin up to meet his in a searing kiss. 

Draco was a weak man, too weak to pull back after a taste of Potter’s mouth, after feeling the hesitance of each movement. The soft brush of those lips against his own coupled with the scratch of his beard was intoxicating. Draco found himself falling into it, his hand sliding up Potter’s arm, up over the solid flesh he’d grown from nothing until he could rest his palm over Potter’s collarbone, his thumb in the hollow of his throat, feeling the strong and quick thud of a heartbeat and the hitch in the steady rise and fall of his breath when Draco’s hand settled right under his throat. Draco parted his lips and Potter’s tongue met his in a slow sensual touch that stole Draco’s breath entirely. He brought his right hand up to cup Potter’s jaw, his thumb brushing along Potter’s cheekbone as he drank the soft moan that rose from Potter’s throat.

Potter’s fingers tangled in his hair, knocking down the pin that kept them up to clatter on the floor, and Draco pulled back, his eyes still closed as he pressed his forehead against Potter’s, his hair falling down over his shoulders.

He took a few slow breaths, trying to will his rushing heart to slow down. Potter’s warm, spicy scent filled his lungs and called him closer as he fought to pull away entirely. The soft puffs of air against his lips tempted him to close that distance and allow himself to get lost in the welcoming warmth of Potter’s lips again.

“I can’t do this, Potter,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

“Because you’re my healer,” Potter replied. There was no accusation in his tone, no anger, no resentment, just acceptance as he trailed his fingers reverently down the line on his jaw.

“And you’re bonded to someone else.” Draco still didn’t dare open his eyes. He knew that if he looked into Potter’s and he saw the open trust there he wouldn’t be able to do what he needed to. He would do something that would destroy them both in the end.

“Not by my choice.” 

He could feel Potter’s warm hand on his shoulder, his fingers barely a whisper of a touch on his neck, the only skin left exposed by his uniform. 

“That doesn’t take away from the fact that there is someone who didn’t— can’t consent to be part of this, Potter.” And it wasn’t just Murphy, Potter didn’t know what he was asking for, who he was… He grimaced, his hand trembling as he slid it down Potter’s neck to his shoulder, finally pulling away a few inches, just enough to break the point of contact and open his eyes to face Potter.

“Will you call me Harry?” Potter asked, his thumb slowly tracing the edge of his jaw, his hand warm against the side of his neck.

It was such a simple request, his eyes pleading.

“Please?”

Draco was doomed when that word passed Potter’s lips.

“Harry.” A prayer. His death sentence.

“Draco.” It felt like a promise, one with a weight Draco wasn’t sure he could shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Share the love in the comments.
> 
> I know some of you are suckers for the very important step of calling each other by first name, don't lie to me, I see you.
> 
> You can always come chat with me on [tumblr](https://tedahfromtayla.tumblr.com/)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! No, you're not mistaken, it's a new chapter.
> 
> "But, Tedah, you just updated three days ago!"
> 
> What can I say? It's a Christmas miracle, performed by the lovely [Jay](https://ana-iliad.tumblr.com/) who came through for me once again. Jay, you were the best gift this Christmas, the discord squad knows just how serious I am when I say it.
> 
> It's an actual Christmas chapter on Christmas day. You're welcome, I know, I'm spoiling you with all this content but it's Christmas and we're all a little nicer.
> 
> @Onereader this chapter is specifically for you.

It wasn’t hard to convince Aadhya to give Draco a few days off after completing Harry’s reconstruction. It was much harder to convince Soup to let him keep brewing the anti-rejection potion and pain reliever during those days off. Draco didn’t have much choice in the matter. Despite his burning desire to hibernate until spring, he had work to do. If he didn’t brew them, Harry wouldn’t get the potions he needed to complete his recovery. 

He allowed himself three days to sleep off the exhaustion, let his magic recharge, and get over the lingering feeling of Harry’s lips against his own. That was the hardest part, but after three days he had to get back to work to oversee Harry’s care; he trusted Aadhya but he couldn’t expect her to focus on Harry with all her other duties and he couldn’t explain to her the delicacy of the situation surrounding him. So, as soon as he felt like he could handle himself he reported back to the hospital.

Harry was discharged at the end of December, right before Christmas. Draco kept him under close monitoring for a few days after he lifted the last of the stasis charms he had layered on his arm but there didn’t seem to be any degradation happening to the regrown tissue. The muscle tone was less than ideal but Paul told him Harry was making good enough progress and there wasn’t any loss of sensation as far as he could tell, so there was no reason to keep him.

As the holidays grew nearer and the first hints of snow decorated London, Healers started the process to discharge as many patients as they could. It was good for them to spend the time home with their families and fewer patients meant fewer personnel needed to manage operations so more of them could take the time off.

Teddy came to the Hospital straight from King’s Cross, still wearing his uniform, to say hi to Harry and help him bring everything home. Draco had to admit it felt great when the boy brushed past Harry to launch himself at him, already talking a mile a minute about Arithmancy and ancient runes and how cool it was to be able to build spells and craft new magic.

Draco dropped a kiss on his forehead and held onto him for a moment before turning him around towards Harry with a gentle nudge; he’d missed the boy more than he was ready to admit but Draco knew when the moment wasn’t about him. Harry was just as impatient to show off his new arm. Teddy glanced at Draco for permission to touch it and Draco gave him a little nod.

“This is so cool! Can you feel it?” he asked Harry, poking his hand.

Harry chuckled and grabbed his finger at the next poke. “I can feel perfectly fine.”

“It’s just like a real arm!” Teddy grinned.

“It is a real arm, that was the whole point of it,” Draco replied with a fond smile, watching Teddy examine the hand closely.

“You got it just right,” Teddy commented, a little awed, “Even the crooked finger!”

Draco met Harry’s eyes over Teddy’s head.

“Yeah, it’s just like the original one, down to the last freckle,” Harry commented.

“Never let it be said I don’t pay attention to details,” Draco replied. There was no way he could deflect that one, and Draco found he didn’t want to either.

“So, are you all packed?” he asked Harry, looking around the room. The cards had been all stacked into a box, the last surviving balloons delivered to paediatrics, as well as most of the sweets - divided between the nurses and the kids. Draco had brought the Pensieve home the previous day and they agreed they would continue Harry’s training at his house when their schedules allowed.

“Yeah, I got everything,” Harry replied, “and enough people to help me carry everything,” he added, ruffling Teddy’s hair.

“Good. Remember not to overexert the arm,” Draco recommended.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to carry all the luggage for him,” Teddy promised with a grin.

“I’m trusting you to keep an eye on him for me, alright?” Draco smiled at Teddy. “No flying, no heavy lifting, no apparating until Paul says so.”

Teddy nodded, his face set in an intense expression.

“Hey, you can’t turn my godson against me!”

“It’s for your own good, Harry,” Teddy replied.

Draco’s face split into a delighted grin. “Would you look at that, seems like I just did.”

“I hate you,” Harry grumbled, twisting to tighten the straps on the swing so it would be comfortable.

“You really don’t,” Draco replied with a self-satisfied smile, “I’ll see you when you come round for PT.”

By the time Draco finished his rounds, they had already left, the papers signed by Healer Dana. The only thing left was his chessboard with a note stuck on top with Harry’s familiar chicken scrawl

_ Thank you for everything. ~ H. _

He flipped it over to find a very polite invitation.

_ We’d love to have you for Christmas if you don’t have other plans ~T. _

Draco slipped both in his pocket with a small smile, he did have other plans but that didn’t mean he couldn’t include Teddy in them… He should probably get something for Hermione and Weasley… Harry got a new arm for Christmas; that surely would be enough. He could get him a prank gift or something...

* * *

“How does it feel?” Pansy asked, tightening the lacing on Draco’s corset.

Draco checked himself out in the mirror, running his hands down his sides, the boning shaping his body into sharp lines, sculpting new curves. He took a deep breath, feeling the resistance of the garment, then he looked up, meeting Pansy’s eyes in the mirror and nodded.

“Good. Looks good too,” he added, tracing the gold latches on the front.

“You look sexy,” she grinned, resting her hands on his waist.

“I always do,” Draco replied with a small smile, not bothering to try and sound appropriately offended by the implication of the opposite.

“When I dress you, sure,” Pansy retorted, stepping back to get his robes. “Weasley RSVP’d, he’s bringing the wife,” she mentioned.

“Oh, shut up, I knew how to dress before you started doing it. What’s that about Weasley coming?” he traced the delicate golden leaves embroidered in the front, glinting against the rich blue. He liked Pansy’s new taste for vegetation-themed detail work, he could use some grounding, feel like he had solid roots and could reach up to the sky. The rich blue brought out the warmer hues in his eyes and the gold made his hair look less white.

“Blaise and your mother thought it would be nice to invite him since he helped get the proper authorization to set the whole thing up,” Pansy replied, draping the robes over his shoulders.

“And Granger.”

“She’s his wife, you asshole, it’s just common courtesy,” Pansy smacked his ass with a chuckle.

“What about Potter?”

“What about him?” The glint in Pansy’s eyes was unmistakable, but Draco was willing to put up with a little teasing.

“Did he get an invite too? The golden trio usually comes in a package.”

“Yes, he did.”

“You make him a set of robes too?” Draco asked with a teasing smile as she pinned the shoulders of his robes to the proper fit.

“Thought about it, but I’d rather see what he comes up with if left to his own devices,” Pansy replied.

“You? Giving up control like that? Should I be worried about your health?” Draco grinned at her and she pricked him with a pin. “Ow, stop!” he giggled.

“You gotta get some thrill in your life every once in a while,” Pansy told him, taking the robes off of Draco, careful not to disturb the pins.

“Speaking of, I’m thinking about bringing Edward as my plus one.”

“Edward as in Teddy? Your… second cousin thrice removed or whatever? The tiny cute dude?” Pansy asked

“That exact one.”

“Why? He’s what, thirteen? Do you really think he’ll have a nice time?” Pansy pointed out, furrowing her eyebrows.

“He’s fourteen and a fan of your work, I thought he’d like to see you in your element,” Draco replied, with a fond smile, remembering how interested Teddy got in his set of Thestral robes.

“Well if he’s a fan...” Pansy’s face opened in a pleased smile as she put the clothes away. “I’ll get these ready for you and drop them off with Soup.”

* * *

“And you just kissed him?” Ron asked, bouncing Hugo on his knee as he watched Harry do his exercises.

“M-hm,” Harry nodded, squeezing the putty in his hand before reshaping a ball and squeezing again.

“He kiss back?”

Harry nodded again, a smile tugging at his lips as warmth spread through him at the memory of Draco’s hair falling around them and the taste of him on his tongue.

“So, are you two official now?” Ron asked, tickling Hugo’s tummy.

“Officially on first-name basis. He keeps rejecting me because he’s my healer and this whole thing,” Harry replied, pointing at the runestone still hanging around his neck, his one defence against interference from his bond.

Ron hummed, “He’s got a point. But you’re not going to let it go, are you?”

“Have you met me?” Harry chuckled. “Hell no. Besides, he’s not my healer anymore.”

Ron sighed. “Don’t you think you should let him make a move now? Let him set the pace?”

“It’s not that easy. If I wait for him, I will grow white before anything moves. It’s a push-and-pull with him and half the time I don’t know what game we’re playing but…”

Ron chuckled, “But you like it,” he teased him.

“Yeah, I do,” Harry admitted, just a little wistful. “You know, he told me to ask him again once he’s no longer my healer and that’s exactly what I plan on doing.”

Ron shook his head with a fond smile. “You coming to the gala at Malfoy Manor?” he asked to change the subject.

“I think so, yes.”

“You bringing someone?” Ron asked.

“That would defeat the purpose of me getting Draco, don’t you think?” Harry looked up at him shaking off the spasm in his hand.

“Maybe, who knows how the man thinks.” Ron shrugged, glancing up at Harry before his attention was pulled back and entirely absorbed by Hugo’s round smiling face. 

“You already found someone for the kids?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, Percy and Ollie are at the Ministry thing, and Bill and Fleur are out with her family so mum, dad and Charlie are taking the whole gaggle for the night at the burrow.”

Harry stopped and raised an eyebrow at Ron. “All of them on their own? You sure it’s not too much?”

“I mean, Charlie wrangles dragons for a living, I’m sure he can handle a few nieces and nephews for a night.” He tickled Hugo’s tummy. “Are you a little dragonling, Hugo?” he cooed “Are you going to set your uncle Charlie on fire like his babies do?”

Hugo’s trilling laugh filled the room, followed by Ron’s own giggles when he replied with a gleeful “Ye!”

* * *

Draco picked up Teddy early from Andromeda’s house and let her fawn over both of them for a while, take a metric ton of pictures of them and needlessly fix Teddy’s hair at least three times. He looked very dapper in the new formal robes Draco had helped him pick for the Yule Ball, his hair was artfully tousled, sporting a dark auburn colour that suited him very well.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with?” Draco offered as they got ready to leave.

“Yes, schatz, you boys have fun, I’m going to be at Molly’s with the little ones,” she replied, kissing his cheek when he leaned in to kiss hers. “I’ll see you both in the morning, Teddy, be good for Draco,” she recommended.

“I promise, grammy,” Teddy replied, dropping a quick kiss to her cheek before hurrying into the fireplace after Draco.

The Manor was buzzing with activity and last minute preparation, tables being set up, house elves floating trays of food from the kitchen, Pansy overseeing the styling of her models and Blaise watching from a safe distance. There was already music playing softly in the background and the twinkling lights glinted off the icicles spelled to decorate every window. Pansy had gone all out, bringing the Manor back to its old grandeur. The Christmas tree was grazing the ceiling with its tip, the biggest they could possibly fit in and decorated with spun glass baubles so light and delicate they almost seemed to float.

“Let’s go find your aunt, I’ll introduce you to Pansy later,” Draco told Teddy, distracting him from his awe at the ballroom.

Narcissa was almost done getting ready when Draco knocked on her door and got invited in. She was stunning, like Draco remembered her being in his childhood, regal and elegant like he wished he could be. Her hair was gathered in an elaborate twist and decorated with night sky petunias of a blue so dark it almost looked black, matching the dress she was wearing. She smiled at them when they walked in, setting down the bottle of perfume she’d just spritzed on her neck.

“Oh, don’t you two look lovely,” she commented with a smile, standing up from her vanity table. “Teddy, I didn’t know you’d be attending tonight.”

“He’s my guest, Mother,” Draco replied, leaning in to brush his lips against her cheek, breathing in the familiar scent of powder and the sweet flowery perfume.

“Isn’t Draco a little old for you, Teddy?” Narcissa teased, a fond light glinting in her eyes as she looked at them. “He’s already starting to turn white.”

“I’m afraid young Edward is more interested in Pansy than me,” Draco replied, helping her clasp the necklace and drape the feather-light shawl over her narrow shoulders. 

“We brought you something, we wanted to give it to you before the party,” Draco mentioned, nodding to Teddy.

Teddy carefully pulled a small tube out of his breast pocket and tapped it once with his wand whispering  _ Engorgio  _ to bring it back to its original size. He carefully pulled the rolled canvas out and Narcissa looked up at Draco with a question in her eyes, he just nodded towards the painting Teddy was holding. 

It was the view from the sunroom into the garden. Her and Andromeda were having tea out on the grass. Both had their hair down, the streaks of grey in Andromeda’s clearly visible, as well as the thin lines around Narcissa’s eyes as she laughed freely, her head thrown back. She was wearing her gardening clothes, sturdy and well-loved, the wide-brimmed hat sitting a little lopsided on her head, casting shifting shadows on her face and the gloves sitting on the blanket next to her.

Both figures, while animated, produced no sound.

Draco watched his mother bring a hand to her chest as she looked at the painting, the light, the texture of the clothes, the happiness pouring out from her and Andromeda's faces. Teddy had done an outstanding job.

“Oh, petit chou, that is wonderful,” she gasped, stepping closer to examine the painting, “is it...?” she asked, turning to Draco. Draco nodded with a small smile.

“Draco’s been teaching me the use of canvas and colours and the stratification of spells. It only misses your voice. Grammy said she would give hers only if you agree to do the same,” Teddy explained. With one last spell, Narcissa could imbue the painting with her breath, so that it would become  _ her painting _ , instead of just a picture of her and her sister.

She nodded slowly, her eyes watering up as she looked at the women on the canvas. “Yes, Merlin, Yes. Of course. I would be honoured.”

Draco took the canvas from Teddy’s hands, freeing him up to receive the hug Narcissa was dying to give him.

“Later, though,” he told them. “Right now there’s a lot of people gathered who are waiting to see you, Mother.”

Narcissa nodded and cleared her throat as she straightened up. “Will you two handsome young men escort me?” she asked with a small smile.

“It would be our honour, Aunt ‘Cissa,” Teddy replied with a grin, offering her his arm.

Draco and his mother exchanged a brief look and a smile that spoke more than a thousand words could. All the time in the world wouldn’t be enough to explain the space young Edward Lupin had carved for himself into their lives, luckily there was no need to, because they each understood perfectly. They understood there would be no filling the hole another child left but Teddy was there to receive all the love that needed to be given lest it destroys them both.

They walked out together and all her aura of aristocracy returned as she took Draco’s and Teddy’s arms, getting ready to descend the stairs into the ballroom. Her hands weighed nothing on their forearms as they flanked her, stopping for a breath at the top of the steps.

It took only a few moments for silence to fall over the room as if Narcissa’s mere presence had shifted the energy enough for everyone to take notice. Draco and Teddy fell into step with her easily, her shawl fluttering along with every step she took down the stairs, her black dress swiping along the stone next to Draco’s royal blue robes. Despite the stark height difference of her escorts, she stood straight, keeping her measured pace as they made their way through the ballroom, the crowd parting for them until they met Pansy at the small stage set up on one side. Draco handed Narcissa over and the two women walked the runway together, the light glinting off of the crystals in Narcissa’s dress, lighting her up like the night sky. They struck a stunning pose for a couple of seconds, enough for the crowd to start clapping as they made their way back so Narcissa could take her seat and the models could start walking out with Pansy’s collection.

Draco and Teddy found Blaise standing in a corner, decked out in a royal purple ensemble, the deep jewel tones complimenting his dark skin. He smiled when he saw them and handed Draco one of the drinks he was holding.

“Nice entrance,” he commented, raising the glass in toast.

The runway was a hit, showing off the best pieces featured during fashion week and a few new Pansy designed while on tour. It was bound to get her some great press right before New Year’s Eve.

Blaise kept a running commentary on the clothes and the models wearing them, Pansy had some regulars and Blaise had the best gossip about all of them, Draco couldn’t help the smile at the outrageous stories Blaise weaved for him. At least three out of five never happened and the other two were greatly exaggerated, Draco was sure, but the entertainment value was all there.

When Pansy had taken her last bow and milked all the applause from the crowd, Draco stepped out of the sidelines, making his way unhurriedly across the room to the seat of honour occupied by his mother. She was already smiling at him, quickly catching up to his plan. When he stood two steps away from her he smiled and bowed

“May I have this dance, Lady Malfoy?”

“It would be my pleasure, mon bonheur,” she replied.

The open delight shining in her eyes warmed Draco through like few things could these days. He took her delicate hand and helped her to her feet, walking her to the middle of the dance floor and spinning her once before taking the stance, listening to the first notes of Strauss’ Vienna Blood waltz fill the room. It was Narcissa’s favourite, he’d watched his parents dance to it innumerable times, lost in each other like only lovers could, the warmth of his mother’s smile when his father twirled her was not something Draco was ever going to forget, nor could he erase the softness in his father’s eyes when he wrapped his arms around her.

Draco himself had taken his first steps to that very song, holding his mother’s hands and smiling up at her, his feet a little too eager to follow the music and his arms a little too short still to twirl his mother properly for a Viennese waltz. Now though he could place his hand firmly on her back and it was her turn to look up at him, the fondness of her smile was unchanged, despite the lines now starting to show on her face, Draco could still see her eyes without the wrinkles that enhanced her laugh now, he could remember a time when his mother had suffered no grief and her worst worry was her son’s ineptitude at dancing. When he himself knew nothing of loss, and all that mattered was making his mother laugh and call him  _ her happiness _ .

He led her easily into the dance, she was just as light on her feet at fifty-seven as she was at thirty-three, letting the music lift her up and swell between them naturally. Draco knew they had the whole room’s attention, his mother was captivating, but she didn’t stay for more than one dance. She thanked him and went back to dividing her time among all her guests like a proper hostess.

Draco wasn’t left alone for long, though. Just as soon as Narcissa left, Teddy made his way to him and bowed.

“May I have this dance, Lord Malfoy?” he asked. Draco couldn’t fight the smile that opened his lips at the question, at Teddy’s expectant little bounce.

“I would be delighted young master Lupin,” he replied with a curtsy. 

He knew Teddy had learned a little bit of waltz himself for the Yule Ball, he’d followed that particular endeavour through increasingly distressed letters leading up to December. Draco had no illusions about Teddy’s ability to follow, it was apparently something of a miracle he was even able to lead, but Draco didn’t mind having his feet stepped on as Teddy led them into a few simple steps. What were toes in the face of his child’s delight about being able to dance in a real ballroom? Draco suspected that if he looked in a mirror instead of Teddy’s smiling face, he would find himself sporting the same awed fond expression his own mother never failed to direct at him. Bruised toes he could heal, but no magic in the world could recreate that feeling.

* * *

Harry stumbled out of a fireplace inside Malfoy Manor, his stomach already in a painful twist at the idea of being back there. The dark magic saturating the air was a sensation he would never be able to forget, but the hall was unrecognizable. If it weren't for the crest on the mantle and the paintings on the wall, Harry would have thought he got the wrong address. But that would be impossible, the invites had the address imbued, made non-transferrable so no unauthorized people would be able to come in. He'd seen Auror meetings with less security.

It was glorious, filled with warm light and the voices coming from the ballroom brought nothing but Christmas cheer. Harry hesitated for a moment, looking around, the ceilings even seemed higher than he remembered. He tugged slightly on his tie making sure it was straight before walking towards the chatter.

He found Ron and Hermione fairly easily and joined them, looking around the room for any familiar face. He was surrounded by the most elegantly dressed people in Britain it seemed, and he suddenly felt very aware of the fact that he was wearing a comparatively plain set of formal robes. Dressing up the arm sling had been a struggle, he'd ended up transfiguring it to match the colour of the robes he'd worn at Ron and Hermione's wedding and called it a day.

He felt the shift in energy immediately when Narcissa appeared on top of the stairs and the sight of her flanked by Draco and Teddy made him forget how to breathe for several seconds. They painted a breathtaking picture, making their way through the crowd. Narcissa didn’t look a day older than forty-five and she looked like royalty, Draco matching that feeling perfectly, standing at her side with his hair in an elaborate braid, they were so light they seemed to twinkle under the light. Harry knocked back his drink trying to get rid of the sudden dryness of his throat.

He completely missed the runway, only halfway listening to Hermione's comments about it. He was too busy staring at Draco and Teddy on the other side of the room and how good they looked next to each other, how right that picture felt, Teddy in fitted formal robes, Draco in a high design ensemble that had Parkinson written all over it.

"Did you know Teddy was coming?" Harry asked eventually.

"Andromeda mentioned something about Draco taking him as his personal guest," Hermione replied casually, clapping when Parkinson came out on the runway again to bow and collect her applause. After that, the floor cleared up and a slow song started.

Harry watched Draco make his way across the cleared out room to his mother. He bowed to her and offered her his hand. She took it and rose from her chair in a fluid practised motion, letting her son guide her to the middle of the dance floor. Harry was entranced as they stood for a breath, her hand delicately placed on Draco’s shoulder, his on her back, and with the next beat, they started dancing. Draco led her in a slow waltz, easily following the music as if it flowed through them, they were smiling to each other, carefree as they built to more elaborate twirls. Harry could swear their feet barely touched the ground as they danced, each step effortlessly in sync with each other, her back perfectly arched. Watching them he started to understand how rumours of the Malfoys having Veela ancestry started, nothing entirely human could embody that grace or that kind of allure.

Harry could remember a much, much younger Draco learning to dance standing on his mother’s feet and for a moment the two images blended together, the same happiness painted on their faces as Harry tried not to get overwhelmed with Draco’s memories, the childish delight with which he took to ballroom dancing, the warmth of his mother’s hands.

The song ended too soon and Draco kissed his mother’s hand before letting her go. As soon as Narcissa left, Teddy walked up to Draco on the still empty dance floor and bowed to him clumsily, Harry could tell Draco was holding back a smile when he curtsied back and let Teddy take the lead in the next dance, placing a hand on his shoulder and letting him figure out the hand placement for a moment. Teddy didn’t have a tenth of Narcissa’s grace but he led Draco in a stumbling dance that seemed to delight him just as much as his previous dance, if not more. Soon enough the dance floor was full of couples dancing and Harry lost sight of them.

* * *

As he walked towards the refreshments table he got a glimpse of Ron and Hermione dancing slowly, her head on his chest and the most besotted look he’d seen on Ron’s face in a while. He was pouring himself a glass of eggnog when Parkinson approached him, the pleasant smile on her face did nothing to soften the imposing figure she cut in the sharp dress and architectural corset she was wearing.

“Enjoying yourself, Potter?” she asked casually.

Harry nodded. “You put together a great event,” he replied politely. Half the time she still looked like she would happily murder him and somehow Harry felt like she might even have a good reason to, judging by the light in her eyes.

They chatted for a bit while she drank some water, people kept coming up to her to shake hands, exchange holidays well wishes or congratulations on her latest projects. When Harry had started to feel maybe a little bit at ease around her Draco and Teddy made their way over to the refreshments table from the dance floor.

Draco was radiant, a smile illuminating his face as he held Teddy’s hand and let himself be dragged towards the refreshments. Parkinson lit up as soon as she noticed them and after some formal introductions whisked Teddy away. To be entirely fair, with Teddy’s enthusiasm it was hard to decide who was doing the whisking.

“Glad to see you made it, Potter,” Draco mentioned, keeping one eye on Teddy and Parkinson as they made their way backstage.

“I thought we agreed on first names,  _ Draco, _ ” Harry replied with a smile.

“You’re awfully familiar for someone who’s yet to get me a drink,” Draco retorted, the twitch at the corner of his lip betrayed his amusement.

Harry grabbed a flute of champagne from a floating tray and offered it to Draco.

“What about now?” he asked, grinning as he took it.

“A free drink from an event held at my own house. Are you that cheap a date, Harry?” Draco asked, his smile hidden behind the rim of the glass.

“You’ll have to go out with me and find out, won’t you?” Harry retorted.

Draco didn’t reply but there was a distinctly amused glint in his eyes, a nice change from the usual exhaustion and frustration Harry usually read on his face. He looked stunning. Up close he could see the delicate golden leaves threaded through his braid, catching the light every time he moved. Harry should have probably grown used to it, what with seeing him almost daily for months, but there was no way to prepare to see Draco wearing a corset. He already had a great physique, long elegant lines and lean muscles hidden under the practical planes of a healer’s uniform, but a tight shirt and a corset vest turned him into a work of art Harry desperately wanted an excuse to touch.

“Can I have the honour of the next dance?” Harry asked when the song started winding to an end.

Draco raised an eyebrow looking at the sling and at Harry in general.

“Do you even know how to follow?” he asked, putting the glass down, only half drunk.

Harry grinned, it wasn’t a no. 

“No, but you do, and I’m a quick study,” he replied, already taking Draco’s hand, gently tugging him towards the dance floor.

Draco carefully slid his arm under Harry’s sling, supporting most of its weight as Harry rested his hand on his shoulder, he took Harry’s right hand in his and pulled him closer.

“Relax, Harry,” he whispered. “Breathe.”

Harry let himself relax in the safe confine of Draco’s arms and took a few tentative steps, letting Draco’s body guide him through the motion, clumsy and unsure as a foal on ice. Harry never regretted more not learning how to dance properly, not when he had to open the dances during the Triwizard tournament, not at Ron’s wedding, not at any Ministry function he’d been forced to attend. But the shadow of a fond smile touching Draco’s lips as he looked down at him when he stumbled made it all worth it.

They danced considerably more than one song but eventually Harry’s shoulder started aching and he carefully slid his arm down to rest against his torso.

“Everything ok?” Draco asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern when he noticed the grimace of pain on Harry’s face.

“Yes, it’s just...” he gestured to the sling “I get tired easily these days and my arm lets me know exactly when it’s time to stop.” He gave Draco a small smile. “It’s got your signature all over it.”

Draco huffed a small laugh at that comment. “It is a work of art, maybe I should actually sign it,” he replied, resting a hand at the small of Harry’s back and gently guiding him off the dance floor.

Draco found a free chair for Harry and handed him a glass of water, holding onto a plate of canapes to share, no comment was needed and Harry kept his mouth nice and shut about it. They watched Daphne lead Blaise in a tango that bordered on indecent, much to the amusement of Pansy’s models. Pansy switched in for Blaise when the music turned into a chacha. After that, a light salsa came up and Pansy got one of her male models to dance with her, Harry watched with bated breath as she got tossed up in the air with a near-impossible number of rotations before—

“Are you in my head?” he asked Draco, narrowing his eyes at him suspiciously.

Draco smiled seraphically. “Shouldn’t you be able to tell by now?” he asked, resting a hand on the back of Harry’s chair.

“Get out.”

“That’s not how this works. You had your defences all the way down,” Draco told him.

“So you thought you’d teach me about ballroom dance before I realized?”

Draco shrugged. “Seemed like relevant information. Now protect yourself, Harry,” he told him fondly, “before I decide to plant something less pleasant.”

Harry grimaced, trying to concentrate enough to kick Draco out of his head and build his defences back up.

“Good,” Draco hummed, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze that made Harry feel fluttery and warm for a moment, like he wanted to lean into that single soft-spoken word and rest on that feeling until new year rolled around.

“You were an adorable kid,” Harry said softly, watching Teddy learn a few steps of Viennese Waltz holding Narcissa’s hands. He felt his heart clench at the sight of her patient smile and his concentration, staring at his feet to avoid stepping on his partner’s.

“Are you implying I’m not an adorable man?” Draco asked, a hint of teasing in his tone.

Harry glanced up at him. “No, you have the face of a man one could easily worship, but it’s hard to beat that,” he replied nodding at where Narcissa had to slouch to pass under Teddy’s arm.

Draco hummed, his gaze softening as he watched the two of them on the dance floor, a touch of melancholy covering his eyes as he took a sip of champagne.

Watching Teddy get doted upon made Harry feel silly for arguing so much with Andromeda, there was no mistaking the light in Narcissa’s eyes as she held Teddy’s hands and spun him, or the attentive protectiveness that filled Draco whenever Teddy was in the room. He should have trusted Andromeda knew her sister and had Teddy’s best interest in mind.

And Draco. He was a father without a child and Harry had tried to take his cousin away from him too. The guilt twisted his stomach painfully.

“I’m glad you have Teddy,” Harry said after a while, “And I’m sorry I fought against it initially,” he added, fiddling with the strap of his sling. “I should have given you a chance.”

Draco’s hand squeezed his shoulder for a moment. “Thank you for saying that,” he murmured. “It means a lot that you’re ok with it.”

The party continued into the small hours of the morning, people started leaving around midnight, a few at a time until only a handful remained hanging around. Ron and Hermione left a little before one, a house entirely free of children was a rare opportunity Harry couldn’t blame them for wanting to enjoy.

There were only a few remains of the croquembouche left on the table. It had been a massive showstopper, competing in pageantry with the actual Christmas tree when it was brought out. It was an incredible architectural feat, decorated with spun sugar and glazed mint leaves to make it resemble a tree, and there were sparks falling from the top to add to the whimsy. It was delicious as well which didn’t hurt. Harry might have had a little more than advisable, the same could be said about the eggnog. He was left feeling full and warm and more buzzed than he had any right to be, smiling easily to everyone around and feeling the Christmas cheer as people slowly bid their goodbye to the hosts and left.

“Do you need a room to sleep off the eggnog?” Draco asked him once almost everyone had left.

Harry shook his head. “No, I couldn’t impose,” he replied, scratching his beard, “It was some very good eggnog though,” he hummed.

“Are you sure? It’s not like we’re lacking spare rooms and I wouldn’t want you to get lost in the network,” Draco offered again, the amusement clear in his voice as he smiled down at Harry.

“M-hm.” Harry nodded, getting up. “I’ll be fine. Teddy staying with you?” he asked, taking a few unsteady steps towards the fireplace.

“Yes, I’m dropping him off at Andromeda’s in the morning,” Draco replied, taking his elbow to steady him.

Harry stared into the flames, feeling the warmth lick his face, the light of the fire casting dancing shadows around. Draco’s hand was still on his arm and as much as Harry wanted to lean in and kiss him again, he didn’t. Ron hadn’t been entirely wrong talking about letting Draco set the pace. He glanced up and found the man looking at him, his face so soft and open, Harry struggled to imagine Draco’s feelings were much different than his own.

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” Draco whispered, offering him the pot of Floo powder.

“Merry Christmas, Draco,” Harry echoed, slowly sliding his arm away from Draco’s hold and stepping into the fire as soon as it turned green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you had/are having a great Christmas day, if you celebrate it, and to all of you who don't, happy holidays. 
> 
> Share some of that cheer in the comments.
> 
> You can always come over to [my tumblr](https://tedahfromtayla.tumblr.com/) for a chat.


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